


sic itur ad astra

by aelinlightbringer



Series: astra inclinant, sed non obligant [2]
Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, like...LOTS of tags, more tags to be added as new chapters are posted, that are currently a bit spoilery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2018-09-26 05:13:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 30,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9864437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelinlightbringer/pseuds/aelinlightbringer
Summary: Part 2 of astra inclinant, sed non obligant leaves off right where part 1 ended. Aelin and Rowan are crossing the ocean back towards Erilea, exploring the world just as they wanted and meeting (very familiar) people along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed, fairly short chapter. I just wanted to let you guys know that part 2 IS well under way! I'm writing it out of order, so even though it's about 10k right now, I unfortunately can't post anything from it! (yet) I'm working on connecting the scenes I have written so I can post the first few. Sorry for the boring/set-up chapter. Don't worry--things will get more exciting soon ;)

Somehow, in all of Aelin’s daydreaming about traveling the world, she had never thought about the traveling itself. In her mind’s eye, she simply appeared in fantastical foreign lands, without any of the tediousness of carriages or boats—or gods, even walking. She supposed that was what dreams really were—reality without the unpleasant strings attached. Characters in books always made traipsing through woods seem pleasant. Aelin now knew, from personal experience, that it lost its charm after about two hours.

Traveling had been so tedious this spring. But now, Aelin discovered that it could be…fun.

Being stuck on a ship had driven her near-mad with boredom before, confining herself in her room out of paranoia. But Aelin found herself thinking of the past less and less now, the pain an ever-fading memory.

Now, Aelin could spend every day with her mate. It was just as it had been in Mistward, although they’d dropped the pretense of training. But they retained the casual intimacy that Aelin had loved. They would wake up at dawn to watch the sunrise on the water. The sun was beautiful on the water so early in the day, soft and diffused before it could become blinding later.

During the long days at sea, they would often sprawl on the sunny deck, talking about Mistward or magic or memories of theirs. Aelin loved to hear about Rowan’s childhood, loved to hear the tales of the slightly wild younger Rowan, especially when she could _feel_ Rowan’s fondness of his memories, and could almost see the memories themselves. They talked about it, sometimes—if they’d be able to show each other visions some day. Aelin had read stories of mated couples able to do it.

Since the bond had settled between them, they had gotten better and better at reading the vibrations that passed through it. Aelin could tell what Rowan was feeling most of the time, and he could so the same for her. It took a little getting used to, the idea that someone had such easy access to her thoughts—but at the same time, it was her Rowan. It felt so intrinsically _right_ that she didn’t mind at all.

When it was too hot to lay on the deck, they retired to their private stateroom. If it wasn’t cooler in there, it at least offered Rowan the privacy to reach into his magic and pull up icy breezes to fill the room.

Rowan had told Aelin that he was worried about the other passengers finding out about his magic. She understood what he meant—he was already large and bulky enough to be intimidating without magic, and a ship in the middle of an ocean wasn’t the best place to be trapped with panicked humans. Still, Aelin joked with him that if the passengers did find out, all that would happen would be them demanding cool breezes for the rest of the trip. He laughed as she described it—the older women treating Rowan like a servant boy—and it warmed Aelin’s heart to se it.

The day had grown too hot to be outside, and nearly everyone on the ship had retreated below decks. Aelin and Rowan sat in their private quarters, going over a map Aelin had bought before they left Wendlyn. It was spread over one of their trunks, weighted down by a few pieces of jewelry that Aelin had pulled from her things. They had been talking, as they did most days, about the places that they wanted to see—well, that _Aelin_ wanted to see, because Rowan insisted the only sight he cared about was her—and Rowan had approved all of her plans, until Aelin had suggested they visit the White Fang Mountains while in Adarlan.

“We had better stay away from there,” Rowan said.

“Why?” Aelin asked. He turned to her, his eyebrows slightly lifted.

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Aelin asked, her unease growing.

“There’s tension brewing among the witches”—Aelin raised her eyebrows at his casual statement, as though he weren’t talking about deadly, immortal creatures— “and that mountain range is too close to their territory for comfort,” Rowan said. He looked over at Aelin and answered her unspoken question about how, exactly, he knew all of this. “My uncle was religious with following the movement of power all around the world. The witches are no exception.”

He picked up a necklace, examining it for a moment before setting it down again. “I heard word that the Ironteeth and Crochan are nearing war—apparently the Crochans’ kidnapped one of the Ironteeth a few years ago, claimed she was theirs all along. It wouldn’t have been too much of a fuss, had they not said that she was chosen to break the curse of the wastes. I believe they now call her Queen.”

Aelin raised her eyebrows—the Witch Kingdom had been uninhabitable for hundreds of years, but even then, her parents had always told her to be thankful that Terrasen was far away from the Wastes, and that a mountain range separated them. Never in her lifetime had she heard even whispers of witches breaking the spell that had been placed on it so long ago—Aelin hadn’t even known that the Crochans were still alive and fighting. And now they were preparing for war against the Ironteeth.

“Are they really so dangerous as the tales say?” Aelin asked.

Rowan paused to consider her question. “Not the Crochans. And the Ironteeth aren’t really, not to us,” he said, “at least, not unless we faced great numbers, or they chose to Yield.”

Aelin felt a cold shiver race across her skin, goosebumps covering her arms. She had heard of the Yielding only in passing—whispered behind closed doors, and once in an ancient tome that briefly mentioned it.

Aelin had all but forgotten the kidnapped witch-Queen. “The Yielding?” she whispered, her voice lowering involuntarily, even as she sat alone with Rowan. “What do you know of it?”

“Not much,” Rowan admitted. He rose and began to walk slowly around the room, almost nonchalant—but Aelin could see the tension in his face and feel his slight nervousness vibrating down their bond. “My uncle has only seen it once. He’d been in Adarlan in the last months of the final witch war. He told me that he was miles away and he felt it—endless rage and magic blacker than death. It was one of the few times I ever saw him afraid.”

Aelin’s breath caught in her chest. She couldn’t imagine Auberon—the cruel male, so ancient and cold he seemed cut from glass—afraid.

She felt Rowan’s tension—just as he felt hers—and he quickly crossed the room to kneel in front of her. “Aelin,” he said softly. “It’s alright. Witches are hardly ever desperate enough to Yield. We’ll be fine.” He took her hands in his and kissed every knuckle before softly whispering, “I’ll protect you.” And Aelin shivered again, though there was no chill in the air, and pulled him closer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this fic is getting written. Pinky promise. While I'm figuring out Rowan and Aelin's storyline, enjoy this short chapter of a different POV--because, yes, 'sic itur ad astra' will feature POV chapters from other characters :)

Elide Lochan sat down with a soft hiss, stretching her leg out in front of her to elevate her ankle. It was bothering her more than usual today. Various healers had attempted to fix it, and while it was much better, her ankle would never quite be perfect.

Elide didn’t mind.

It was better up here, anyway, in the mountains near her family’s summer home. After all of the drama at the capital, Elide’s parents had thought it best for her to spend some time away. Elide had meekly agreed. There had been far too much yelling there of late, anyway.

Elide had been in the throne room, along with her parents and other members of the court, when the news had come. Aelin wasn’t coming home—instead, she had sent a cryptic note about traveling the world.

Elide had never seen Aedion in such a rage.

The twins—Elide knew they weren’t really twins, but always thought of Aedion and Aelin that way, for they were twins in all but blood, from their appearances to their fiery personalities—had been incredibly close. It had taken endless convincing for Aedion to remain in Terrasen while Aelin went to Wendlyn, but he had been sedated by the knowledge that she would return soon. When Aelin’s letter came, and he found out that she was _not_ returning home as planned, he had flown into a near-delirious rage. Elide had blanched, completely paralyzed at the sight of such pure Fae aggression, but her mother had pulled her out of the room when the furniture started flying.

Aedion and Aelin had always largely ignored her. Well, perhaps ignored wasn’t the right word. Elide was terribly quiet, she knew that, and she often felt overshadowed by them, almost drowned by their presence, which seemed to blot out her own entirely.

She did prefer the wooded mountains around her family’s summer home to the court. It was her first night spent here in a while, and she had snuck out to see the woods bathed in moonlight. Elide had always thought that it was one of the most beautiful sights; sunlight was beautiful, to be sure, but it could so often turn blinding and painful. Like Aedion and Aelin, she thought—beautiful and burning, so much so that they could be hard to look at.

Elide only made it a small ways away from the manor before settling down on a log to rest her ankle, her mind still engrossed in court life. She had been shocked when she heard that Aelin was going to train her magic all the way in Wendlyn. Elide had heard of the accident with the stable boy, of course, but she had figured it was normal. Her mother had raised her on tales of Brannon of the Wildfire, and she had whispered to Elide that Aelin held the same fire in her veins. Elide had listened, enraptured—and it was perhaps in those moments that she started to think of Aelin as a god, and not as a person, although she would only realize this later. For now, Elide sat, wondering what exactly Aelin was training for. She had always seemed to be in control, at least enough. Fire magic was unpredictable. It only made sense that Aelin would slip up from time to time.

A soft breeze played with her hair, and Elide leaned her head back, humming contentedly. Sometimes she thought she could hear the wind whispering to her, so soft as to almost go unheard. Elide had learned not to tell anyone else this. They thought it was strange.

She closed her eyes, letting the moonlit forest around her go dark, as she listened to the soft rustling of the breeze around her. Elide felt a slight longing, as though the wind were calling to her, as she always did, high in the mountains. She wondered for a brief moment if that was how Aelin felt about fire. But Elide wasn’t Aelin. She could never burn as bright, could never captivate a room’s attention the way Aelin could.

She tried not to be bitter. After all, she was just Elide. Small, inconsequential, unnoticeable. Perhaps that was why she liked the moonlight—it gave her just the sort of shadows she liked to hide in.


	3. Chapter 3

Manon landed with a soft exhale, placing her feet firmly on the ground. Her ironwood broom flew into her outstretched hand, its enchanted magic calling it to her. The witch took a moment to run a hand over it before looking at the woods around her.

She had flown through the night, and she had landed somewhere in a mountain range. Fairly abandoned, she was sure. The mountains were so ancient she could feel their presence like a whisper in her ear. It was slightly unnerving, but—but Manon had needed to get away.

She set off through the forest, smiling slightly at the soft crunch of dead leaves underfoot. Her cloak, blood red and pristine, rippled behind her as she walked through the forest.

Asterin had nearly begged to go with her, but Manon had finally given her a sharp look and her cousin had dropped it. Old habits died slowly, Manon thought. She reached up a hesitant hand to graze the circlet around her head. The metal was warm, which should have been comforting, but only propelled Manon further into the dark forest.

Rhiannon hadn’t asked to follow her. None of the Crochans had.

It was not for lack of familiarity; if anything, Manon had grown…far closer with her half-sister than she ever thought she would. Even if living with the Crochans still made her uneasy from time to time.

It had been years—years since the day when Manon’s life had changed forever.

She remembered it vividly. Manon had been living in yet another nameless valley, nearly ready to give up and leave. It had grown so, so much harder to find the ever-elusive Crochans, and she was growing more impatient. She had wanted nothing more than to plow ahead, through blood and fear, to the next village.

And then she was captured.

Never before had Manon been filled with such _rage_ , such burning fever that rushed through her veins like ice water. She had snarled and fought and lashed out with her iron nails, but she had found herself still in a prison.

No one had been able to so much as capture Manon before—yet things had only gotten stranger from there. The guards were Crochans—Manon could see that easily—but even as she threatened to rip their throats out with her teeth, they only looked at her with ridiculously calm expressions. She hated them for it. Wanted their guts, to rip out their still-beating hearts and bring them to her grandmother as a gift. One of them stared at her red cloak, and Manon had flown at the bars separating them, snarling when they didn’t budge under her hands.

The guards were completely silent, and Manon spent a few hours threatening them and planning just how she would end them—slowly, torturously—before she looked around at her cell.

She was silent and utterly still for a moment, taking in her surroundings while she cursed herself for not paying enough attention earlier.

It was—odd. Odd enough to stop her in her tracks. Plush rugs lined the cold floors, and a mattress had been placed inside, covered in silken sheets. In all of her rage Manon had noticed none of it, yet it was utterly jarring, finery placed among damp stone and thick cell bars.

She was still staring at the bed, trying to work out exactly what had happened to her, when she heard a clamor behind her, and she whipped around, her cloak billowing around her, and flicked her wrists to let out her iron nails and snapped her iron teeth down.

In the dim hallway outside her cell—for despite all of the comforts, it was undeniably a prison cell—a hooded figure had ran in, and talked in low, desperate tones with the guards. Manon watched as one of the guards tipped their chin at Manon—and she felt a low hiss rising in her throat—but the hooded figure turned around slowly, as if in shock.

The figure drew back their hood, and Manon found herself looking at a young Crochan witch.

Despite the witch’s plain appearance, brown hair and eyes the color of newly turned soil, Manon felt a shiver go down her body.

And then the witch had fallen to her knees, and for the first time, someone bowed to Manon.

 

Manon shook her head, pulling herself out of the memories. It had only been a few years ago, a mere blink in her immortal life, but so much had changed. Too much, at the moment, and the weight of being called _Queen_ had been crushing for a moment, and so she had fled. She just needed some time alone, to fly through the night and feel the wind tug at her hair.

Manon hadn’t wanted to tell Rhiannon why she really hadn’t wanted the title. It wasn’t the responsibility—no, as Heir she had faced the same expectations before. And Manon was ready, more than ready, to lead her people home, even if they hadn’t been her people until a few years ago—yet none of the Crochans looked down on her for it. They all looked at her with the same awed, respectful expression. But even that wasn’t why she had balked from the crown, had avoided it until now.

It pained her to admit it, which was why she had been relieved when Rhiannon had guessed, when Manon had not had to admit to her weakness.

Manon was afraid.

Being declared the rightful Crochan Queen was an act of war. Perhaps not among mortals, but certainly to the Ironteeth. It was a statement screaming to the world that the Crochans were back and ready to reclaim their kingdom—and one Manon knew her grandmother would answer with glee. And that was what Manon was truly afraid of. Not her crown, or her people’s expectations, or breaking a centuries-old curse. No, it was her grandmother who haunted her dreams, whose rusted iron nails she could still feel digging into her throat.

Suddenly, Manon heard a twig snap, and she froze. Shit. She hadn’t been paying attention, wandering the forest deep in thought, like a fool. She was the Crochan Queen now; she couldn’t be so careless.

A faint breeze wafted over her, and she took a deep breath, smelling the air. The sound could have been anything, but Manon did not take risks.

There—she caught the faint waft of humans, harmless, but—but there was someone closer to her than the rest, a female, and as Manon smelled her, she caught the faint smell of witch on her.

She stiffened out of reflex for half a second before she forced herself to relax. The scent of witch was dull, almost covered by the watery scent of human. The female barely had a wisp of witch’s blood. Manon might not have even noticed it, if she hadn’t been obsessively thinking about her grandmother.

Manon turned on her heel, ready to walk away from the humans she had stumbled upon. They were far enough away, and had dull enough senses, that Manon knew she could slip away unnoticed. Over the years, Manon’s taste for human blood had weakened. She had recognized it one day living with the Crochans, when she realized she hadn’t had blood in months and had not missed it, either. It had made her breath catch in her chest—she might have called it panic, if she were human. Who was Manon, without her infamous bloodlust?

That, too, was a wound that had taken years to heal, and Manon still doubted the answer. She was hesitant to say she had a heart, or a soul, despite Rhiannon’s constant protests, but she once thought that if she had one, it had taken those years to heal it. To put back the jagged pieces that she was into something new—something better, even.

A breeze brushed against her cheek, whispering softly to her. Manon closed her eyes for a moment before spinning on her heel and stalking a ways into the forest, far enough away that the not-quite-a-witchling wouldn’t be able to see her, before she mounted her broomstick, and flew away into the night. She thought for a moment that the wind sighed as she flew away from the ancient mountains, but she knew better than such sentimental thoughts.

The wind held no mercy. It did not care. And Manon was alright with that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trash at updating. Sorry.

“You’re in your human body,” Rowan said, stating the obvious as he trailed a finger down Aelin’s hip. It felt duller in this body, just like everything else. She rolled over, barely able to see Rowan in the darkness of their cabin.

“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes but smirking so Rowan knew she was joking. “Didn’t your all-knowing uncle tell you about magic in Adarlan?”

Aelin could sense Rowan hesitate, searching his memory for an answer. “No?” he replied cautiously. He began to run his fingers down her side, and Aelin pushed down a wave of unease at just how dull it felt. Her human body had been her refuge for so long—surely she could tolerate it again.

“Well,” said Aelin, dragging herself out of her thoughts, “let’s just say that Adarlan is not as tolerant as Terrasen or Wendlyn. There are far less magic users, and the ruling family—the Havilliards—haven’t helped. They haven’t had magic show up in their line for generations.” She paused for a moment, remembering the whispered gossip she’d heard back in Terrasen. “Well, until now, anyway.”

“Do they have laws against magic?” Rowan asked, and she could practically see him thinking, forming plans for what he might have to do, to protect both himself and his mate.

“Not officially,” Aelin said. “Still, I’m going to stay in my human form while we’re in public. I thought it might help to practice while we’re here.” Aelin sighed, already too uneasy with being back in her human body. It wasn’t the loss of her superior physical senses that she missed—it was the one that mattered most to her that made her uneasy—she could barely feel her mating bond with Rowan, as though it lay behind a thick curtain.

Rowan must have been able to sense enough of her discomfort even through the curtain that seemed to separate them. “I don’t like it, either,” he said, and he brushed his hand down Aelin’s side again. “I wish you would come back.”

“Fine,” Aelin sighed, and she shifted back with a flash of light. She sighed again—this time in relief—and immediately reached for their mating bond. She grinned as it hummed between them, alive as ever.

“Much better,” Rowan rumbled, and he kissed Aelin’s neck.

 

Rowan still attempted to help Aelin with her water magic. They practiced in their private cabin, Rowan still skeptical of using magic in front of the other passengers. Aelin didn’t mind, if only because it gave her alone time with Rowan. Still, the drop of water magic she had remained elusive.

“I don’t think it’s even there,” Aelin said one day, collapsing on their bed in frustration. She wasn’t exaggerating, either—she felt nothing but her fire, eagerly leaping up to meet her. Although it no longer scared her, it was slightly unnerving to feel her flames rising up endlessly, no limit in sight.

Rowan simply raised his eyebrows and sent an icy breeze towards Aelin. She closed her eyes and sighed as Rowan’s magic staved away the summer heat.

“I’m serious,” Aelin said, eyes still closed, “I think that my fire burned it away. It’s just not there.”

She felt Rowan slink down beside her, felt his scent envelop around her and the possessive Fae part of her begin to purr. “Magic cannot disappear, Fireheart,” Rowan said, in a softly joking tone that had Aelin opening her eyes, if only to watch a slightly crooked smile cross his face, the slightest of dimples forming on his cheek. “You said you had a drop of water magic, did you not?”

“Yes,” Aelin said. And she did. Supposedly. She continued talking, her mind wandering as she began to play with a loose thread on her mate’s tunic. “Perhaps I can ask my mother about it.”

She stiffened and felt Rowan’s eyes lift up to her. She had not spoken of her family or home since they left Mistward. The thought of how her family would react scared her more than her magic did.

“Will you?” Rowan said, his voice soft and gentle as it always was when he spoke to her. Aelin knew what he was really asking her. Did she plan to return to her family? Was she going to face them as she was, fire blazing in her eyes?

“Someday,” Aelin told him, and without another word he leaned forward to envelop her in his arms.

 

The next morning, Aelin woke up before dawn to a buzz of activity on the ship that hadn’t been there since they had set sail. She counted the days in her head against the estimated time, and it was only a few seconds later that she bolted out of bed, throwing on a dress as quickly as she could.

Aelin heard some incoherent mumbles from Rowan as he tried to sleep, despite Aelin stomping around the room. “Rowan!” she said finally, unable to keep the shrill excitement out of her voice. “I think we’re arriving today!”

“Mmh?” he groaned, blinking open one eye at Aelin. She bit her lip to keep from laughing at the sight of the Fae male warrior before her. Rowan’s face was lined from the bed sheets, his hair mussed from sleep, and the one eye he had opened was bleary and half-shut—warrior, indeed.

Aelin finally couldn’t contain her excitement, and she left Rowan to roll out of bed while she burst up onto the deck, even though the sun had not yet risen. She grinned wildly, ducking out of the paths of running deckhands and making her way to the edge of the ship. She leaned out over the edge of the boat, watching it cut through the water. Aelin had yet to grow sick of the sight.

It looked like freedom, she thought.

She closed her eyes, a thrill of excitement going through her when she realized that, in her Fae form, she could smell the change in the air. She scented the air again, shivering at the smell. It was faint, but she could detect an earthiness underneath the salt spray of the ocean.

A few minutes later, when the sun had finally peaked over the horizon and painting the sky gold, Aelin heard the footsteps of someone walking up behind her. She might have turned, had she not felt the soft humming of the mating bond in her chest, and known instantly that it was her Rowan.

Aelin continued to look out towards the ocean, and Rowan stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to his chest.

“Good morning, love,” he murmured, and Aelin smiled at the morning gravel that still laced his voice.

“Can you smell it?” she asked, half-turning to see Rowan looking at her. “Adarlan?”

Rowan turned into the sea breeze, his nostrils flaring for a moment as he scented the air. The warm light of dawn played across his features, bringing out the golden flecks in his eyes, and Aelin’s heart swelled with affection so much that it almost hurt.

He scanned the horizon for another moment, eyes intent, before pausing. “Yes, yes I can,” he said, and he smiled, and Aelin felt her heart surge again at the pure happiness that lay there. She knew that Rowan would defend her, no matter what—but she also knew in that moment that she would do the same for him, to keep that smile on his face pure and innocent. Aelin turned towards the rising sun, letting her eyes flicker closed for a moment. _Thank you for giving him to me—to the world_ , she thanked the gods silently, hoping that they had heard her. She thought she felt the sun burn warmer for a moment, like a soft kiss from Mala, but perhaps she was imagining things.

“Aelin,” Rowan said, and she opened her eyes, startled out of her prayer. She turned back towards her mate to see that he was still smiling. “Look,” he said, inclining his head towards the horizon, and Aelin turned her eyes in the direction he had indicated.

She let out a soft gasp. At the very edge of the horizon, no more than a smudge in the distance, lay Adarlan.  


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally finally FINALLY have an update for you guys (if anyone is still reading this lol). It's super unedited so I apologize for any errors, but I wanted to get it out asap!! Enjoy <33

Adarlan was—different, than Aelin had been expecting.

In all of her years living north of the country, Aelin had never been. Had never been allowed to go, really, but she tried to forget that. She had only ever gone to Wendlyn, a country that she realized now was vastly like her own. They were both old countries dominated by the Fae and magic, with lines of strong magic running through their royal families.

Adarlan had no such thing.

As the capital city, Rifthold, came into focus, Aelin couldn’t help but note the differences between it and the others she had seen. Unlike Terrasen’s cities, Rifthold was tightly packed, holding dark buildings that spoke of industry and tight spaces. There was a fervor to the city that she had not seen in others.

It was the farthest thing Aelin had ever seen from the wild mountains that she called home, and yet she found she didn’t mind it. Perhaps it was the novelty of traveling that had to wear off, but she found herself grinning as their ship slowly pulled towards Adarlan’s docks.

They passed the city’s slums on their way to the finer docks and her grin faltered. It was a grim reminder of the underbelly of the world, with the slums even more tightly packed than the rest of the city, a smoky haze settling around it.

Aelin had shifted into her human body as they had approached the docks, and as they passed the slums, it seemed the right decision. She wrinkled her nose at the stench, but Rowan was gagging beside her, his face paling. Aelin ran a soothing hand over his back while she covered her own nose. She only took one look back at the slums. Gods, she was surprised that people lived there. And yet she knew she had no right to moral superiority—there were slums in every city. Even in Terrasen.

Their ship drifted slowly up to the docks, and Aelin’s eyes flicked up to something moving in the breeze. A flag with the royal sigil of Adarlan flew on a tall standard above the docks, and Aelin saw that Rowan noticed it as well; his green-eyed stare had been drawn to the red fabric.

It seemed that his thoughts had wandered to the Havilliards as well.

“You said that the Havilliards didn’t have magic in previous generations. Does their king have it now?” Rowan asked. The crew of the ship began to shout, and Aelin and Rowan had to step against the rail to avoid the sudden buzzing activities of the ship being prepared for docking.

“I don’t think so,” Aelin said, “but I believe the Crown Prince does.”

“The Crown Prince?” Rowan asked, running his fingers in lazy circles over Aelin’s hip. She closed her eyes, reveling in the touch and leaning closer for a moment before answering her mate.

“All I’ve heard are rumors,” she admitted. “They say he has powerful raw magic, but he’s shallow and only concerned with himself.”

“Have you met this Prince?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” she said, “Although I can tell you already that I love my Prince far more.”

A slight flush lit up Rowan’s cheeks, and Aelin couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. Maybe someday Rowan would be able to take a compliment without blushing, but today was not that day.

They stayed out of the crew as the ship docked, and unloading began. Aelin couldn’t help but pace around Rowan in the small corner they had carved for themselves, as every box unloaded brought them closer to exiting the ship. To Aelin finally touching Adarlan with her own feet—it was enough to make her want to squeal in excitement.

Finally—according to Rowan, only thirty minutes later, although it had felt like an eon to Aelin—their trunks had been unloaded and Aelin bounded down the gangway with Rowan following close behind her.

“Can you believe it?” she said, turning back to him. Rowan was standing over the large trunk that contained everything Rowan and Aelin had carried with them from Mistward. It wasn’t much, at least for Aelin’s standards, but they had clothes and money and, of course, her favorite books, so she felt that little else mattered. “We’re in Adarlan! We made it!”

“Yes, we are,” Rowan said. Aelin supposed the words would have been sarcastic coming from anyone else—but that wasn’t Rowan. They were said simply, with the gentle smile that he seemed to wear often nowadays.

“I can’t wait to explore, perhaps the docks first? I’m not sure if there’s much to see but I don’t care—”

“Aelin?” Rowan interrupted, and Aelin whirled back, seeing Rowan still standing over their trunk. “We’re going to need to find a place to put this,” he said, gesturing to the well-worn trunk at his feet. “And I’d suggest we find a place for us, too.”

“Ah. Yes,” Aelin said, hoping her tone made her sound as though she hadn’t completely forgotten that shelter was a necessity. She could tell by Rowan’s knowing smile that he already knew, though, and the act was for nothing. Not that Aelin felt she could be blamed; these things—shelter, food, clothing, travel—had always been arranged and procured for her. It was almost a novel concept to think about all the aspects of life that were so new to her.

Just then, her stomach grumbled loudly, and she remembered how hungry she was. The ship hadn’t provided breakfast, and Aelin was hungering for something that wasn’t salted or cured, anyway.

“How about I find us a place to stay, and you find us some food?” Rowan suggested, already reaching for the handle of the trunk.

“That sounds perfect,” Aelin said. She leaned over to kiss Rowan on the cheek and murmur a thank you before she bound off, deeper into the city, with Rowan’s light laughter echoing behind her.

As Aelin walked away from the docks, she felt a mild discomfort, like an itch she couldn’t reach, and she had a feeling it was because of the distance she was putting between herself and her mate. But she pushed the sensation aside and turned around to make her way into the city.

Aelin had never wandered a city like this, alone and without escort of any kind. The closest she had come had been her and Rowan’s dash across Wendlyn, but Rowan had known the land well and had always been there, a hand at her back to guide her to where they needed to go.

She was facing uncertainty she had never known as she walked down streets, following the faint smell of food and the sounds of shouting voices, faint against the gentle, unceasing roar of activity within the city.

She wasn’t sure whether it was some natural intuition or dumb luck, but Aelin did manage to make it to the marketplace in the city.

It was, in her eyes, perfect.

Aelin couldn’t help the wild grin on her face. The city was _alive_ —there was no other way to describe it. She had never been in the midst of such glorious chaos, as merchants called out their wares and an endless stream of people filled the streets. For her entire life, Aelin had been a step away from it all—locked behind carriage doors, or surrounded on all sides by her guard. Now, she could smell the faint salt of the sea, and the enticing spices of food nearby, and she had to put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing out loud.

Aelin had never felt so alive herself, not as she did seated in the midst of such vibrancy within the marketplace. She might laugh, or cry, or scream in the joy from the sheer mortality she felt. Aelin had always been held at a distance from the world—first as a princess, and then as her powers grew, as a thing to be feared. She had heard whispers that people thought she was a newborn god, sent to cleanse the world.

Being a god was shit, she thought, now that she stood among people.

Being mortal was far, far superior.

Not a single person bowed to her, she accidentally stepped in an ambiguous puddle in her haste, and she had absolutely no idea where to go or where she was, but Aelin could not have cared less. _This is what it is like to be alive_ , she thought. If this had been her life, if she had run away like she wanted to—gods, she didn’t know if she would ever have gone back. If she would have just slipped away, taken up another name, and gladly cast off the weight of her crown.

Aelin wondered, for the briefest moment, more like a daydream than a coherent thought, if she might do that now.

“You’re not from here?” Aelin glanced up at a merchant, pulled out of her thoughts at the question, and she realized that she had been standing in the middle of marketplace and staring like a fish out of water at everything around her. Yet the merchant was looking at her with an open, friendly expression, and Aelin smiled back.

“No,” Aelin replied, and she could hear the difference in accent between her voice and the merchant’s, and felt her face flush as she realized how obvious this would be. No one realized she was a Princess of Terrasen—but no one thought she was from Adarlan, either.

“Well, you’ve come at just the right time,” the merchant said. “It’s absolutely frigid in winter and rather steamy in summer.”

Aelin turned to the market around her again. A slight breeze caught her hair in a soft caress, and Aelin’s smile grew. “Indeed,” she said. The weather was lovely, the sun hinting at a warmer summer, but not hot enough to be searing.

The noon sun glinted off the water, and suddenly Aelin remembered her promise to Rowan to get food while he found them a place to stay. More time had passed than she realized.

Aelin quickly found a stall selling an assortment of foods, and she swiped up as much as she could—she was delighted to see that they even sold meat on a stick, Rowan’s favorite. She bought four sticks, barely able to contain her grin. By the time she had bought enough food to feed three grown men (which she figured was roughly equivalent to Rowan), her own stomach was growling in protest.

Aelin ducked into an alley and shifted in a flash of light. Immediately her mouth began to water at the smell of the food in her arms, even more savory now with her Fae senses, but most importantly, she could feel the faint pulsing bond that connected her to Rowan. Aelin turned to her left and began to follow the thread tugging at her heart, and she smiled to herself again. She couldn’t wait to explore the city tomorrow—this time, with her mate beside her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new POV ;), hopefully to hold you guys over while I finish the next chapter of Aelin and Rowan's storyline!

Aedion knew, in some quiet part of his mind, that he was being unreasonable.

But that part was being drowned out by the voice that screamed in his head. It was every fiber of the Fae male inside him rising to the surface, snarling with vicious possessiveness and—and betrayal, he realized.

He could barely feel the other members of the court speaking to him, trying to console him, and he began throwing chairs, vases, because smashing things helped to tamper the rising aggression in him.

Aelin had—had _left_ him. He had stood by her for her entire life, had worshipped her as his future queen and waited impatiently for the day he could mix their blood and serve her with all he had, with his life if he had to, and she had left. Seventeen—no, eighteen, now that Aelin’s birthday had passed and she hadn’t even bothered coming home—years of being by her side, of supporting her in everything, and all she had sent was a short, messily written note, one that didn’t mention Aedion, not once.

Aedion without Aelin was a roiling storm, anger and rage bound to nothing.

He bellowed as someone grabbed one of his arms, and he wrested away with all his strength. His lungs felt tight, almost as though he couldn’t breathe.

Rhoe and several other of the court’s more vicious members finally managed to restrain him, even as he snarled at them, resenting the arms pinning him down.

“She’ll come back,” Rhoe said, his voice calm even as he hauled Aedion out of the throne room, even as Aedion could feel the warrior’s strength wavering against his own.

Aedion wanted desperately to believe him, to believe this male who had become a pseudo-father to him.

But he could hear the waver of doubt in Rhoe’s voice, and Aedion knew with gut-wrenching certainty that not even her own father knew what she would do. Aedion loved that about his cousin—he loved the unpredictable fire in her veins. But—but before her, for all her spontaneity, she had kept Aedion by her side.

And now she had left him, and he was nothing without her.

 

Aedion left in the dead of night.

He tried not to think too hard about it—of Aelin, disappearing with hardly a trace, and Aedion himself doing the same not even a week after the initial shock of that note. His mother had pulled him aside later that same day, after Aedion had finally gathered some degree of control.

“Don’t go after her,” she had said, her voice rougher than it usually was. “Don’t run off on some foolish quest of honor.” Her eyes shone with tears, and Aedion got the sense that she was talking more about her own experiences than his. He could almost hear the words on his lips, _Just like my father_?, but he stopped himself. That was something he knew he would regret.

The only things he knew about his father were from his mother’s own slips—not night, when she was drunk and morose and Aedion was twelve, she had pulled him close. “Don’t ever leave me,” she said. “Not like your father.” But even in her inebriated state, that was all she would tell him.

He didn’t know who his father was. He doubted he ever would. It didn’t eat at him like it used to; he had his mother. He had Rhoe. He had Aelin.

It was that last thought that hardened his heart after his mother’s pleas. He didn’t know what had gotten into Aelin, but he did know that she had left him in this court, and he would go after her.

So Aedion stood in the darkened hallways of the castle, sliding a note under his mother’s door and creeping through the passages while everyone slept. It was easy enough to avoid the few guards that were posted at this time of night, even easier to slip into the stables and gently awaken his favorite mare. The horse had snorted at him as if in anger of being disturbed, and he whispered gently to her. “Don’t worry, love,” he said as he put her bridle on, “you’ll be back home before dawn.” And she would; it would just be without Aedion.

Aelin had made the briefest mention of Adarlan in her note about ‘seeing the world’. So that’s where Aedion would go. He would take a ship to Adarlan, and try and find the fire-hearted princess who was the other half of his soul.

Aedion let that thought steady him, steady the rage of her absence and the feeling of betrayal. _It’s not a betrayal_ , he told himself. He didn’t know what it was, but he refused to let his anger blind him. _She did not leave me_ , Aedion thought, _because now I am going to find her._

Then things would be back to how they were. How they were supposed to be—Aedion and Aelin, set together against the world, Aedion’s storm tied to Aelin’s fire.

Aedion was sure of it. 


	7. Chapter 7

Aelin found Rowan in a matter of minutes, the tug at her heart allowing her to navigate through the city streets like she had been born in it.

The tugging led her towards a nicer part of town, and she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that she had allowed Rowan, hauling all of their luggage, to traipse around town looking for someplace to stay.

But she had meat on a stick. He really had no choice but to forgive her.

It wasn’t even a quarter hour later that she found the building where they’d be staying; it was a lovely upscale inn, the tavern inside filled with quiet, murmuring voices. Still Aelin followed that invisible string up the stairs and down a well-lit hallway until she stopped in front of a door, her body humming with warmth, as it always did when she was near her mate.

Aelin reached out a hand to rap on the door, although she didn’t get the chance. The door opened with her knuckles an inch away from knocking on the sturdy oak.

“Hello, darling,” Aelin said, smiling.

“Hello,” Rowan answered, his voice a rich bass, and he ushered her inside, closing the door behind her. “I’m glad to see you found us food.”

“Did you doubt me?” Aelin asked, gasping in mock hurt. She set down the piles of food in her arms on the small table set in their room. It was a bit cozier than her rooms at the castle in Terrasen, but certainly roomier than Rowan’s room at Mistward. “I see you had no trouble finding us a place to stay.”

“Yes, well,” Rowan said, “I was trying to find something that wasn’t outrageously expensive but still fit your tastes. It was either this or an apartment over an abandoned warehouse.”

“Hmm,” Aelin said, reaching for one of the meat sticks. “Wait—what? Abandoned warehouse?”

Rowan smiled at her surprise. “It’s actually quite lovely, but it was close enough to the rougher areas in town I thought you wouldn’t like it.”

“You’ll have to show me tomorrow,” Aelin said around a mouthful of food. “Who would build an apartment above an old warehouse?”

 

“I thought you said you wanted to explore the city,” Rowan murmured, gently prodding at Aelin’s groggy form, hidden under several layers of blankets.

“I do,” Aelin whined, “when the sun has actually risen.” She ignored Rowan’s pointed sigh, snuggling deeper into the covers of their bed.

“If I recall correctly, _you_ were the one who woke us up before dawn yesterday,” Rowan said, his voice gently teasing. Aelin ignored his comment as well.

“Five more minutes,” she yawned.

She closed her eyes, and heard Rowan’s chuckle a moment before he pressed a light kiss onto her forehead. “I’ll get us breakfast while you get those five minutes,” he said.

“That’s why I love you,” Aelin replied, and the last thing she heard was Rowan’s laughter, yet again, as he left their room.

 

A light breakfast and far longer than five minutes later, Aelin was pulling on a light cloak.

“It’s nearly summer,” Aelin complained. Yet overnight, clouds had set in, and a light drizzle had turned the city gray and the slightest bit chilly.

“We both know you don’t really need that cloak, love,” Rowan said, pecking Aelin on the forehead before they left for the day.

“I don’t know whatever it is you mean,” said Aelin innocently. “I am a mere mortal, afeard of magic as the rest of my fellow Adarlanians.”

“The doe eyes are a bit much,” Rowan tossed back, and Aelin gasped in delight at his participation in her games.

She slipped an arm through his and let him guide her down the stairs to the gloomy outside. “I think Adarlan is good for your mood, Rowan,” she said. Her mate merely glanced at the cloudy sky and raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I’m trying not to be wounded,” he replied, and Aelin bit back her laugh.

 

Their plans for wandering the city were a bit dampened by the rain, but Aelin quickly found the upper class shops of Rifthold. They slipped in and out of numerous shops, sometimes buying things and other times not. A half-hour in, Rowan found a bookshop, and Aelin nearly squealed in delight.

She was content to meander through the door, breathing in the scent of ink and pages. She stopped in front of a gorgeous book, with a richly dyed leather cover that had a golden crown painted on the front. Aelin let her hand linger on the cover, running over the differing textures. She realized that this was the first time she was able to be surrounded by books, by those things that gave her such life before, without having to worry about destroying them.

Rowan was watching her quietly, and she let her hand drop from the painted crown.

“What?” she asked. He was watching her too intently to be casual, as though he were observing her rather than merely gazing. And as she reached a mental hand towards their mating bond, she found that he had retreated into his own thoughts, and she felt merely a twinge of an emotion she couldn’t identify.

“Was it true?” Rowan said, his voice low in the quiet store. “What you said about not wanting to be Queen?” He showed her the memory in his mind—Aelin, her face twisted in rage, with tears in her tears and the Wendlyn forest behind her—although he did not have to. She had remembered that day the moment Rowan mentioned it.

Aelin turned back towards the book, tracing the crown again to distract herself. What she had said was true at the time. Maybe was true now. There was a voice at the edge of her mind telling her that it was, but—but there was time to think about that. Later.

“Can’t we just enjoy ourselves without worrying about the weight of the world?” Aelin sighed. “Isn’t that was this entire trip was about?”

Rowan stepped behind her, pulling Aelin against his chest. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he murmured. “But I will just let you know I think it’s worth talking about.” She threw a sharp glance at him. “When you’re ready.”

The statement might have made her uneasy, but she could feel the comfort of her mate’s voice sinking into her, and she knew that Rowan just wanted the best for her. She looked back at that golden image of a crown winking in the dim light of the store, and she had to admit herself that it struck a chord of fear in her. But with Rowan’s arms around her—maybe she didn’t have to run from that fear. Maybe she could learn to face it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey if anyone is still reading this, know that i love and appreciate u and u deserve better than sporadic updates and i'm sorry for that but i do have the next few chapters planned so i'm hoping to get those out quicker!!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is not edited whatsoever so if there are any typos i apologize!! i was just trying to get this chapter out as fast as possible)

It was later in that day that Aelin found their entertainment for the evening.

She and Rowan had slipped into a high-end clothing boutique as the rain took a turn for the worse, with a wicked wind blowing it sideways. They had ducked into the nearest shop and found themselves surrounded by hats, gloves, dresses, and suits of all kinds, made with the finest silks and furs.

The owner had given them enough of a dirty look, no doubt looking at their worn and rain-soaked travel clothes, that Aelin had wandered over to a table covered with samples of gloves to make it look like she intended on buying something.

Aelin picked up a pair, trying to look how she imagined someone wanting to buy gloves would look—although it was difficult, considering she had picked up a bright green pair with leopard fur lining, and she couldn’t conceive who in all the god’s names would _want_ to buy them—when she heard soft murmurs behind her. Aelin sidled closer to the sound, still pretending to examine a pair of gloves while moving closer, and soon she heard two distinct voices. Feminine voices.

“I don’t know, isn’t it rather expensive to wear for one night?”

Aelin almost lost interest—and would have soon—were it not for the next sentence spoken.

“It’s a _masquerade_ , Ella,” the other woman sighed. “And one of the biggest parties of the year.” The woman lowered her voice, and Aelin stepped closer, hidden from view by a rack of fur coats. “I heard Anastasia say that _Dorian Havilliard_ was going to be there.”

Aelin’s breath caught, and she lingered for a only a moment longer, listening to where the masquerade was going to be held, before she all but ran back to Rowan. She had already wanted to go as soon as she heard the word _masquerade_ , but one with Dorian Havilliard? Now _that_ sounded like a good time. She had only met him once, as a child, so she figured there wasn’t a big chance of him recognizing her, either.

“Looks like we might have a little more shopping to do,” Aelin said, linking her arm through Rowan’s as she found him again. She glanced around at the store, with its exuberant colors and patterns. “But, uh, somewhere else.” The rain had lessened outside, so they walked out of the store and away from the glaring eyes of the owner.

Aelin caught a glance of a floor-length fur coat dyed a very unnatural shade of pink and—yes, she would _definitely_ be finding her outfit to the masquerade somewhere else.

 

 

A few hours of shopping later, and Rowan and Aelin stood outside a building in the wealthier neighborhoods of Rifthold. It was almost inconspicuous, except for the noise bleeding out from the door and half-drunk nobles staggering in and out.

Aelin couldn’t hide her grin as they walked over, sidestepping a particularly intoxicated man. She had been to a few masquerade balls held at the Terrasen court, but—there really was no point, when one glimpse of her hair and eyes gave away her identity instantly. But here, in Rifthold, her eyes were nothing more than eye-catching.

Aelin pulled Rowan to a stop in front of the door, only glimpses of the scene visible, as she reached up to adjust his mask. Rowan had gone as Winter in contrast to Aelin’s Summer. Rowan wore a thick fur cloak over a tunic and fitted pants, all the same blinding shade of white, evoking images of snowy drifts. It would have been stifling were it not for Rowan’s own icy magic keeping him cool. In fact, if anyone was curious enough to reach over, they would soon find that the mask that obscured half his face was more than just modeled after ice—it was made from it.

Aelin’s costume offered a contrast to Rowan’s. Her dress was a rich, dark green that clung to her body, except at its flared skirts where gold detailing of leaves traveled up the dress, matching the delicate lace cape that hung from her shoulders. Her costume was completed by a shining mask, which was so finely crafted it looked like wild vines and branches had been twisted together and dipped in gold.

Aelin smiled one last time, at her beautiful mate beside her and their beautiful costumes, and finally let Rowan lead her inside.

The ballroom was gorgeous, marble and gold everywhere, though for once Aelin was glad she wasn’t in her Fae form. Even her human nose was assaulted by the various perfumes and incense that seemed to linger over the entire room. It was nothing like the carefully regulated formal balls in Terrasen, and nothing like Beltane, either. This was excess incarnate, the wine flowing as freely as the costumed courtesans that drifted around the party. One brushed by Aelin, although she couldn’t figure out what the woman was supposed to be—a cat, maybe? There wasn’t enough fabric for her to tell.

The party was much louder, too, than anything she had been at. Above the boisterous roar of conversation, there were a few small groups of musicians throughout the room, and Aelin was once again glad she didn’t gave her Fae hearing, not when it would only mean she would hear the different melodies crashing together even more.

Rowan, indeed, was valiantly trying to hide a wince beside her. Aelin leaned against him, rubbing circles on his arm in sympathy. She saw him warily eyeing the crowds, too, and she tried to radiate gratefulness that even in his shyness, he had agreed to come to this party with her.

They had caught a good amount of the crowd’s attention, which wasn’t surprising. How could they not? Rowan had pulled up the hood of his cloak to hide the pointed ears giving away his heritage, but his cloak couldn’t hide the power and presence radiating from him—radiating from them both, even with Aelin in her human form. She couldn’t help but smirk at everyone watching them, at the fact that even these humans with their lack of magic knew that something powerful was among them.

Rowan murmured in her ear that he was getting them drinks, and she nodded, smiling at him as he made his way to the edge of the room. The crowd even seemed to relax a bit, looking away from her, as though now that she and Rowan were separated, it was easier for the crowd to handle them as individuals.

Aelin sank into the crowd, letting herself be moved along by its ebb and flow until she was in the middle of it all, body heat pulsing around her almost like the heat of her inner fire.

She swayed to the beat, Rowan still absent, but she figured he was sticking to the sidelines. He probably didn’t want to spill the drinks and, more likely, didn’t want to be in the middle of the crowd. That was alright. Aelin was just happy her mate had come with her anyway.

Aelin was still moving to the beat when a young man sidled up to her, smooth enough that he was in front of her before she blinked.

“Hello there,” he said, voice low and sultry and—Aelin fought off a laugh. He had the cocky arrogance of a man not turned down often. She gave him a once over—while he was doing the same to her—and saw why. He was attractive, she had to admit, even hidden under an elaborate mask, with rakish black hair showing through and his eyes, a sapphire blue she’d never quite seen, gleaming with a mischievous light. “What’s your name?”

She couldn’t help but laugh at the fruitless advances of the young male before her. He had the soft, flushed cheeks of a young noble who had never experienced hardship. It was sweet, truly. Aelin grinned further as she imagined how he might look if Aelin had her fangs and pointed ears instead.

“Taken, love,” she said simply, and whirled away from him, only seeing his jaw drop in shock before the crowd pulled her out of sight. Aelin wandered idly if it was the first time he’d ever been rejected—with that jawline and those cheekbones, it was a definite possibility.

She danced for a little while, found Rowan and took a drink, the buzz of it filling her bones, and went to dance again. “You want to join me?” she asked Rowan.

“Later,” he said. “I’m enjoying watching you have fun.” She could only feel the faintest emotion down their bond, with her in her human body, but the words rang with contentment and truth.

“Suit yourself.” She winked and melted back into the crowd, dancing along to a new beat. She’d have to find the musicians later—they were spectacularly talented.

Aelin had only been dancing for another ten minutes when she ran straight into someone. She opened her mouth to apologize, or to fend off the person, if they were yet another courtesan offering their services, but it was a man who stood in front of her.

She blinked once at his appearance, some off-key bell ringing in the back of her mind. The man standing in front of her was human, with long auburn hair and odd silver eyes, but there was something about him that seemed just a little bit too sharp, like he was a weapon rather than a man.

“You’re absolutely delicious,” the man purred, and he gripped Aelin’s wrists, breathing her in. She yanked back, but suddenly his grip tightened like steel around her and—and he was stronger than her. So much stronger. She opened her mouth—to scream, to cry for help, she didn’t know—but he slapped a hand over her mouth before she could do anything. Aelin jerked back again, but the man held her tight, and the people around him—they were either smiling, _enjoying_ this, or looking away as though Aelin didn’t exist.

Her heart thudded loudly. It was Beltane, all over again, but she didn’t have her fire and she didn’t have her Rowan.

She was—she was weak.

For all the training she had been through, she had never encountered such raw violence like this, and it made her mind go blank.

Her lungs suddenly felt tight, as if her corset had been drawn up too much. _Rowan, Rowan, Rowan_ , she called, beating against the thick barrier between her and Rowan. She thought she felt a response, a slight fluttering between them. _ROWAN!_ she shouted, even as she tried to step away from the man. Aelin tried to twist her wrists out of his hold, just like Rowan had shown her back in Wendlyn, but suddenly the man had twisted _her_ again, instead, and she was pinned to his front. A sick, twisted version of the way Rowan held her. Even in her human body, she could feel the Fae part of her panic. _No, no, no_ , it chanted, _wrong, wrong, not ours, not our Rowan, wrong wrong wrong—_

“You’re far too exquisite to let get away,” the man purred, and Aelin might have cried out for help, had she not felt a cold point of steel resting on her lower back. A dagger. “You don’t know who I am, sweetling, but I would not fight if I were you. I really would hate to ruin this pretty pale skin of yours.” The man ran a finger down her neck, and as Aelin looked around the party, and—there. Rowan, frozen in a far corner, a combination of fear and rage on his face. Aelin shook her head slightly. She couldn’t draw attention to herself in this crowd. But the sight of Rowan, his slight nod in return as he headed for the same exit she was, caused the panic that consumed her to begin to leach out of her body, and she let herself go pliant in the man’s arms.

She had her Rowan, she thought. But what the panic had made her forget was that she had herself, too. Aelin Galathynius was so much more than the mortal body she wore. She was not weak.

And the man standing behind her would not live to regret his decisions for much longer.

Aelin would have killed him there, would have sunk her fire deep into his bones so that he would never touch anyone again the way he had touched her, but she was in the middle of a crowded party in Adarlan, where anti-magic sentiments ran deep. If she shifted now, the crowd would turn into a mob and be upon her in seconds. And it wasn’t the mob that she feared—it was what she would have to do, to do to _them_ , to get out of it, that she feared.

The man was whispering in her ear again, the tone pleasant and light, but she forced herself to block out those words. She could still feel the repulsion in her very soul towards the filth behind her, could still hear her body protesting— _not our Rowan not our Rowan not our Rowan_ —but she blocked that out, too, and let her mind became quiet with icy rage.

The man was steering her towards a back door, and she pictured the moment in her mind—she would step into the alley with him, and he would probably be grinning at the prize he’d gotten. He wouldn’t be expecting any struggle, either, not when she had stopped fighting after just a moment. The man might even loosen his grip for a moment, and he would stumble back at a bright flash of light—the flash from Aelin’s shift. And then the man would find a very different female in front of him—one with fangs that could rip his throat out. She wouldn’t use her fangs, though, she thought. No, that would be too easy. Too mortal a way to die. He deserved to feel very inch of his body burning before he died.

They were at the door, and Aelin’s heart began to thump in anticipation. The man reached around her to turn the handle, while still keeping one arm tight around her.

The man eased the door open, and she could practically feel him panting with excitement at his prize. Aelin finally let herself grin—a cruel, wicked smile. Especially as she caught a glimpse of silver hair beneath a fur-lined hood, hidden just around the corner.

The man closed the door behind them, the sounds of the wild party fading away to a muffled roar, and just as Aelin had thought, he loosened his grip, his hands beginning to wander.

And suddenly the pliant young woman in his arms turn shifted, into a snarling creature with delicate ears and gleaming fangs and an immortal, wicked fire burning in her blood.

Before the man could get a single word out, Aelin was behind him, her body moving so quickly she could almost laugh. In the next moment she had one hand covering his mouth and the other around his chest, her fingers resting on his heart. She rode the tide of rage still flowing through her, and she called her magic to her, and let it dance just for a moment in her palms before her hands became branding irons.

The man screamed—or tried to—bucking in her arms in a desperate attempt to get away.

“You don’t know who I am,” Aelin hissed, a mockery of his earlier words. “But you will regret ever touching me or anyone like that.”

Rowan slipped out of the shadows, and Aelin felt a shield of air come down, separating them from the world. She threw the redheaded man out of her arms, and he fell to the ground, panting hard. But—not unconscious. Beneath the glittering obsidian of her hatred, she felt a cold curiosity, and she cocked her head like she had so often see Fae do.

The man had drawn his dagger again, and with barely a thought, Aelin turned it into molten metal in his hand. He shrieked again, but his eyes still held a bite of steel.

It was nothing compared to Aelin. _He_ was nothing compared to Aelin.

She bared her fangs, crouching down beside him to growl low in her throat. All of her watery human fear had melted away in this body, and she knew there was an animalistic rage in her eyes.

The man moved, and he was quick for a human—but not quicker than Aelin in her Fae body. Before he could get up she pinned him again, her burning hand on his throat. The man hissed, and Aelin couldn’t help but laugh at the sound, at the mockery of the growl coming from Rowan now.

“Shall I kill you for this?” she asked, letting her flame ripple out beside her like sunbeams. “You didn’t get very far, but—but I suppose you’ve done much worse, haven’t you?” Hatred burned in the man’s eyes, but Aelin wasn’t waiting for a response. The man had known exactly what to do, and his companions hadn’t thought twice as he herded a young girl out of the party.

Her magic surged at the thought, screaming for vengeance, for all of the people who she somehow knew this man had hurt. Aelin let her magic rise like a wave, let it curl and prepare to come crashing down, even as she knew she would not allow this man to die easily—

Her magic wailed with the song of death, but Aelin felt something. She paused, tilting her head. It felt a bit like the string that held her to Rowan, a thread of fate tying her to the world. She ignored it, clenching her fist, cloaked in writhing blue fire, around the man’s throat, and—there it was again. She could feel that thread holding her back.

“I’m not meant to kill him.” Aelin didn’t know how, exactly, she knew it—but she did.

She stepped back and let the man’s unconscious body fall to the ground, his carefully arranged hair now splayed around him, and grotesque burn marks marring his face and neck, all perfectly mirroring the outline of Aelin’s hands.

The rage had started to leave Aelin, slowly but surely, and she remembered the crowd around him. How they had all seemed to defer to him.

“We should…probably leave Rifthold,” Aelin suggested.

Rowan was solemn, but his mouth quirked up at Aelin’s words. “After you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S RIGHT Y'ALL TWO CHAPTERS IN ONE WEEK 
> 
> (also yes those were cinderella references bc i couldn't help myself) 
> 
> In addition, Aelin's dress was mostly a figment of my imagination, but you can look at the inspiration for it here: https://www.polyvore.com/elegant_evening_gowns_with_cape/thing?id=194333844


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again, a mostly unedited chapter so i apologize for any typos! (in all honesty, the only editing was the removal of some choice language from Aedion bc he has an absolute trash mouth when i write him)
> 
> (and here's a friendly reminder that in this AU, the keys were put back, so Arobynn never had one in his possession, and never gained the power to become King of the Assassins--he's only a Lord)

Aedion didn’t really know how he had expected this search for Aelin to go. He supposed in hindsight he had expected to find minute clues—her scent on a distant breeze, a scrap of cloth belonging to her. Nothing like this.

Certainly not a godsdamned calling card.

His search had started normally enough, with Aedion asking himself a simple question: If he were Aelin, where would he go? It had only been the work of a few minutes and a low-quality map to get a good guess—Rifthold. It was a capital city, exciting and bustling and just the kind of place Aelin would like to go, and much closer to Wendlyn than the ports of Fenharrow and Eyllwe would be. Less chance of pirates, too.

That had all been before he’d even left. Aedion knew he was at least a week behind Aelin, and he hoped that Rifthold had caught her attention long enough for him to catch up. Even if he didn’t, the roiling storm that lived in his heart had quieted since he’d begun his search. He thought it might be the Fae half of him, the half that was never content to sit still and let things happen to him—the half that _demanded_ action.

As soon as his ship docked, practically the moment that it sailed into port, Aedion was stalking through the city, sniffing the air for any trace of Aelin’s scent. He ended up scouring the city for hours, everywhere from the wealthy neighborhoods to the slums.

He had gotten more and more agitated throughout the day. Aedion was happy to be out and searching for Aelin, but the knowledge that every minute without finding her was another minute she could be getting farther away from him was a little more than worrying. There was a small voice in his head, that grew louder with every mile he covered with no trace of Aelin, that whispered that she was gone for good. She had tried to hide her discontent from Aedion, but he knew how she struggled with life at Terrasen’s court, how she struggled with the magic lurking under her skin. That voice in Aedion’s head whispered that she had finally snapped and left Terrasen, left her family and friends and Aedion behind for good. That Aelin would become no more than a wisp of smoke in his memory.

At that thought, Aedion shoved that voice down, smothered it until he could no longer hear it. That would never happen. He would never allow that to happen.

Aedion had forced himself to calm down, to think like the general he was training to be. He slipped into one of the city’s many taverns, perhaps a touch close to the slums, but far away from any nobles or dignitaries that might recognize him. Aedion had always been allowed to travel more than Aelin had, and there was a decent chance of him being recognized in the finer parts of town. Here, though, in a tavern that had seen better days, he was just another figure drinking the night away. Nevermind that he had barely sipped his ale. He wanted his mind sharp.

Aedion knew now that Aelin wasn’t in Rifthold. And he was beginning to think that maybe she never had been, that he hadn’t seen into her mind as well as he thought, when a group of truly unsavory drunks walked into the tavern.

Aedion sunk deeper into his cloak, slouching and concealing the fine tunic he wore underneath. The men were stumbling, barely able to stand up, and Aedion doubted it would take more than a few minutes to deal with them, but that would mean attention on him, attention and questions he didn’t want to answer. So he contented himself to sit in his darkened corner, sipping at his piss poor cheap ale, when that drunken group’s conversation suddenly caught his attention.

“Arobynn’s still fuming, las’ I saw him,” one of them slurred, waving around a dagger in a manner mildly alarming for a man in his state.

“Did anyone ever find that fire-wielder?”

Every muscle in Aedion’s body tensed, a wave of adrenaline suddenly coursing through his body. Fire-wielders were rare, so rare. He leaned infinitesimally closer, trying not to let any interest show on his face.

“Are you joking? No one was going after that bitch—not after she burned half of Arobynn’s face off.”

The breath caught in Aedion’s chest, and he had to bite his cheek to keep from grinning. Aelin had been here—she had _been here_ and left a godsdamned calling card for Aedion, where she realized it or not.

The men were so drunk they didn’t question anything when a hooded stranger began asking prying questions about the local Lord of the Assassins and the trouble he’d run into. It had only taken Aedion a quarter hour to get a good idea for what had happened, and where he needed to go next, with those men none the wiser.

The docks—he’d go to the docks, figure out which boat a golden-haired young woman had boarded and where she’d gone.

Those men had called her a bitch, so often that the corners of Aedion’s vision had gone red, and he had clenched his fists so he wouldn’t bash their faces in. But the moment they had told him what he needed to know, their insults faded away into nothing.

They didn’t matter, not when Aedion was finally on Aelin’s trail. And especially not when his cousin had apparently come into herself during her time in Wendlyn.

Aedion did not shrink one minute from the description of the hand-shaped brands on Arobynn Hamel. It wasn’t cruelty, or psychosis like those men seemed to think it was. No, Aedion knew what it was—it was immortal power and justice, the simmering power in Aelin’s veins finally allowed to come to the surface. He almost wanted to seek out this so-called Lord of Assassins and see exactly what Aelin had done to him, maybe finish the job himself. But that would take precious time, and now that he was finally onto her, he wasn’t going to lose her ever again.

His princess was ready for her crown, he knew it. And he knew that he would be there by her side, to take the blood oath and see that immortal fire in her eyes. The eyes of a ruler. A conqueror.

The eyes of a young god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also titled: the one in which aedion Knows Things but does he actually Know Things?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I disappeared again (sorry guys!!), a combination of finals and vacation and being sick. Anyway, thank you SO much for all your comments--they give me inspiration and motivation to write, and I appreciate them all so much! Here's a little Aelin/Rowan POV, with....a very familiar line :')

Aelin and Rowan had all but flown to the docks, even when it became clear they weren’t being followed.

“We need to get out of here,” Rowan said, somewhat unnecessarily. They both knew why they had to leave—and it wasn’t because Aelin had pissed off some low-life crime boss, or whatever the hell he was. It was because as soon as word spread of a fire wielder in Rifthold, there would be chaos. Fire wielders were rare, feared, and Rifthold had enough anti-magic sentiments as it was. Aelin’s ‘display’ might cause panic in the city, maybe a riot or two.

She mused that would be vaguely entertaining. She hadn’t caused a riot before, after all.

Rowan shifted beside her, their luggage between them—they had taken the time to grab their things before they left—and Aelin snapped back to reality, scanning the moonlit docks. Even though it was late at night, there was the still the quiet buzz of activity of ships being prepared to set sail. Aelin wasn’t sure why there were so many ships about to set sail in the night, exactly, other than something about the tides and probably because of something illegal, but—who was she to judge, really?

Rowan and Aelin crept along the docks, quietly discussing what to do. They could stowaway on a boat (not that either of them had any practical experience with that) or they could find one leaving that night. They were still debating when they passed by a large-hulled ship that looked as if it were nearly ready to set sail.

“Wait,” Aelin said. She shivered, feeling the same sense of being tied to the world, to _that boat_ sitting in the water. It was like what she had felt with that man, except instead of it holding her back, it felt like more of a tap on her shoulder. “I have a feeling about this one.”

“Good or bad?” Rowan asked warily. Aelin cocked her head, taking in for a moment the feeling of it. It wasn’t the thread that bound her and Rowan, pulling them together, and it wasn’t the thread that held her back from that man. It was so weak she wasn’t sure it was truly a thread at all, because as she took a step closer, she didn’t feel herself bound to the ship.

Aelin took a step back, then two steps, just to see what would happen. It felt like a hand lifted from her shoulder, but still hovering nearby. A suggestion, maybe?

“I don’t know,” Aelin responded, just as hesitantly as Rowan had. “But it’s something. And…we wanted adventure, didn’t we?”

Aelin reminded herself to thank the gods yet again for Rowan, as he merely grinned, showing his elongated canines, and stepped up behind her. “Wherever you go, I will follow.” Even if it meant following threads and nudges and feelings, apparently. Aelin reached up to cup Rowan’s cheek, the moonlight catching in his hair for a moment, turning it to gleaming silver fire.

He stepped closer, and the night seemed to pause around them for a second, even the waves halting to catch his next words.

“To whatever end.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> noo i didn't cry writing this psssh whattt??


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: this chapter was one of the first written in sic itur. And now....here it is. I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it. 
> 
> (my suggested soundtrack for the chapter--https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eR2L2vX6a-s)
> 
> also, since it's been a while: let's be friends! find me on tumblr @adarlan

In retrospect, Aelin should have seen this coming. She should have _known_ that out of the dozens of ships they could have boarded, of _course_ she chose the wrong one.

(She’s currently blaming the nudge. The thread. The feeling. The whatever-the-hell is responsible for this, because it is most certainly not her fault, thank you very much)

Anyway, only three days in to a relatively smooth journey, it really wasn’t surprising to be woken up by Rowan shouting her name.

 

“Aelin!”

Aelin burst awake at the sound of Rowan’s voice. She immediately began coughing on the smoke in the air—smoke? _Shit_ , she thought. She hadn’t felt like she had been losing control, not at all—

But then Rowan was dragging her of bed, pulling her up the short stairway that led out of their room, and Aelin suddenly noticed the screaming from above deck.

Rowan was breathing faster than normal, his pupils dilated. Panic. Aelin was about to ask him what was going on when they made it to the deck.

It was anarchy.

The ship was on fire, crates spilled open across the deck, and crew members from the ship, passengers, and others ran across the boat. There was the distinct sound of metal clashing against metal, and Aelin gripped Rowan’s arm as he drew them back into the shadowed staircase, even as smoke began to rise around them. Aelin choked on it, her heart pounding.

“Rowan,” she croaked, her own panic seeping into her voice. Aelin couldn’t tell what was going on—there were too many moving bodies, too much screaming and—gods, that was blood she smelled in the air. That was a _dead body_ laying not ten feet from them. “ _Rowan_.”

“Pirates,” he said, still clutching her in the shadows where no one could see them. Aelin tensed against him. She had heard tales of the pirates who roamed the high seas, although she wasn’t sure how much was tale and how much was truth.

All Aelin knew was that they had set her ship on fire, and she could feel her mate’s pounding heart beside her, and suddenly, she was _angry_.

No gods-damned pirates had any right to attack Aelin of the Wildfire and get away with it.

She stepped out of the shadows, her magic eagerly leaping up to meet the wrath she knew was now in her eyes. Aelin held Brannon’s fire in her veins, and no one had the right to make her or her mate afraid. No one.

A pirate made towards her—his clothes dirty, and his eyes bright, because the idiot had not for a moment thought to look at Aelin as anything but a blonde noble—and Aelin let a savage smile slip onto her face. He was only feet from her when he faltered, almost as if to turn around, but it was too late.

She wasn’t going to kill anyone. She wasn’t that angry—yet. Still, she lunged at the man, punching him across the face ( _just like Rowan showed me_ , she thought), and it might not have hurt as much if she hadn’t wrapped a layer of blue flames around her fist. The man screamed, collapsing onto the deck of the ship with his skin burning.

She let out a dark, savage laugh, one that even surprised herself. But this felt right—using her magic like this, embracing the darker aspects of the fire that always writhed in her soul. Aelin didn’t know what that said about her—but in that moment, she didn’t particularly care. She rode her anger like a wave, letting herself be swept along. It felt _good_ , and her magic was singing with the joy of its freedom.

Aelin moved like the wildfire she held claim to, placing herself between passengers and members of their crew fighting with the pirates. The pirates were always easy to spot—dirty, and cocky, and they always smiled at her when they saw her coming, the young woman marching towards them as if to fight them.

They always noticed the fangs and the fire too late.

Rowan joined her shortly, and the pirates did shy away him, but it didn’t bother Aelin. She grinned at her mate, and they swept across the deck, fire and ice, watching the pirates pale and fall to the ground. Rowan took to encasing them in ice, and Aelin grinned each time she heard them clunk to the deck.

If they had the luxury of facing against Rowan, they met a much better fate than they did in Aelin’s hands.

_They’re idiots,_ Rowan told her as she branded another pirate with her hands. The man fell to the deck, screaming, and Aelin moved on without a glance back. _They don’t realize who the real threat is until it’s too late._

Gods, she loved him.

The chaos cleared, the crew of their ship content to remain behind Aelin and Rowan—they seemed shocked that two of their passengers had immobilized the raiders.

Aelin had wrapped her hand around the neck of the last one, and he screamed as he fell. She let herself smile. She hadn’t ended up killing anyone, but Aelin had a vengeful streak. She was done pretending she didn’t.

She closed her eyes, letting herself breathe in the cool night air. She might have remained that way, but suddenly Rowan was tensing again beside her.

Aelin opened her eyes, and there was someone standing in front of them.

“Hello,” the female purred, and Rowan shifted closer to Aelin. They had just taken down a ship infested with pirates, but the woman standing before them made Aelin uneasy.

The female had dark hair that fell to her waist and gleamed under the light of the stars. She wore a plain white shirt under a leather vest and dark pants—undoubtedly a pirate, although her leather boots looked better than the men they had faced, and she wore a well-made saber at her waist. She was beautiful, Aelin thought, but there was a current of something much darker underneath.

Her scent drifted over on the breeze, and Aelin took a wary step back. It was a scent of wild, crackling rage, and not entirely human, either. Aelin knew Rowan sensed it too, and she felt him drawing up his magic beside her.

“I don’t believe I know you,” the female said, “and I make it my business to know who travels in my waters.” Aelin felt a shiver go down her back at the sound of the pirate’s voice. It was a rolling purr, one that conjured up images of gleaming fangs and blood in darkness.

Aelin remained silent, and Rowan followed her lead. The female continued talking as if she didn’t notice. “Especially the ones who take down half my men.” She raised a single eyebrow, her green eyes glinting in the moonlight. For a moment they seemed to flash like an animal’s—but that must have been a trick of the light, merely her eyes catching the last of the dying fires.

“I don’t take kindly to pirates trying to sink the ship I’m on,” Aelin drawled. She hadn’t played this sort of game in so long—not since she had left her court in Terrasen. She had never quite played it like this, with sharp canines and the scent of aggression in the air. But that didn’t mean she had forgotten how to play.

The female stepped closer, and Aelin began to draw up her magic again. She tried not to smile—the female was still watching her too intently, but Aelin’s magic leapt up with such ease that it was nearly impossible not to smile. She could feel her power buzzing through her blood, starting to hum and sing inside her. It straightened her back and she tilted her chin haughtily.

“Perhaps if you’d like to avoid meeting _pirates_ ,” the female countered, her voice sultry and mocking all at once, “you wouldn’t board a vessel of notorious slavers.”

“What?” Aelin asked, and she found herself turning to look at the crew behind her. The captain stood, his own saber out, and he met Aelin’s eyes, not a lick of remorse in them. Aelin thought of the cracking whips she had seen in her past, the way it had turned her stomach. She had not known that slavers owned the ship they’d boarded. If she had, she would have burned it to ash rather than set foot on it.

“I was planning on taking the crew hostage,” the female continued, and Aelin tried to pull herself together. There was an oily feel on her skin, the feeling of a betrayal that she hadn’t realized was there. Slavers—gods, she hadn’t even guessed. It was disturbing to think that the polite, sometimes even charming, crew were capable of seeing human beings as objects to be sold. “I do normally require payment for taking passengers back to shore, but I’ll take you two back for free, just this once.”

Aelin glanced over at Rowan. Whatever decision they made, it would be together.

_We could easily overtake them_ , he whispered down their bond. _Even this female. She’s not human_ —they both glanced over at the female, and Aelin nearly smirked as she imagined how they might look having their silent conversation— _but no matter what she is, she still needs to breathe._ Aelin felt the familiar brush of his magicked wind against her skin, and she locked eyes with Rowan again, nearly laughing out loud at his bold words.

_I do love the enthusiasm,_ Aelin replied, struggling to contain her smile, _but she does have a point. I had…no idea that these people were slavers._

Rowan nodded, and Aelin didn’t bother to express the rest of her thoughts. Rowan knew them anyway.

_You said you wanted adventure,_ Rowan said, and he smiled softly at her. They looked into each other’s eyes for one last moment, making absolutely sure they were on the same page.

_I always did_ , Aelin told Rowan, and she felt the surge of affection that echoed between them.

She turned back to the female, letting a haughty mask slip over her face again. “Thank you for the generous offer,” Aelin said, even as sarcasm dripped heavily over her voice. “We’ll take you up on it.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY KIDS. I'M BACK. 
> 
> I'm on summer break, which should hopefully mean more posting! I also have a few other stories in the works, so we'll see how soon those are ready to post :)
> 
> As (per the new) usual, not beta'd or edited, sorry for any typos :((

The pirates eyed her warily.

Aelin had admitted to misinterpreting the situation, and she would have offered to heal their wicked burns as best she could, had she the ability. There were times when she thought she could feel the drop of water magic she had, times when she could almost hold it in her hand—but then it slipped away, like clouds dissipating in a hot summer sky.

Rowan, on the other hand, was completely adept at healing, and the pirates didn’t regard him with the same mix of suspicion that they held towards Aelin.

_They’re slow learners_ , Rowan whispered to her as he healed a pirate across the room. The man had refused to let her come closer. _But they do learn_.

Aelin bit her lip, holding in her laughter as she felt the pirate casting fearful glances towards her.

She had always hated the idea of being feared, but she had to admit to herself that there was some thrill in her blood at the newfound respect this new crew had for her.

Mainly that was wrong. Probably wrong.

Aelin waited for Rowan to continue healing the pirates, mostly men but a few women in the crew as well. She could feel his magic even from across the room, its power radiating outward. It felt like a promise, like a surety, like a net that would always catch her. It was in that moment that she pitied the humans unable to feel it.

It wasn’t even a half hour after Rowan finished that they were summoned to a meeting with the female from earlier—who was the captain of the vessel, they had been informed.

A pirate who must have been her lieutenant led Aelin and Rowan into the captain’s quarters, even as she kept a weary eye on both of them. Aelin and Rowan were let in, and the lieutenant left with one final dirty look.

The captain sat facing them, spine straight with her hands folded on the desk in front of her. It was an incongruous picture—a woman with soot still on her hands sitting like a doll. She held no weapons, but there was still something about her that breathed _danger_ into the air.

Rowan sensed it too, and he stepped closer to Aelin, his magic rising like hackles.

The captain seemed to feel his magic as well, and she raised a single eyebrow—even as Aelin noticed that the woman had leaned back slightly. She didn’t blame her for that reaction. Rowan’s power warranted that effect.

“Shall we exchange pleasantries before violence?” the woman purred.

“I’m Celaena.” Aelin blurted out the first name that came to mind. An old name, from when she used to dream of running away and living a different life. But that was a story for another time. “And this is Brandubh.”

Rowan, bless his heart, nodded solemnly. He was getting better at lying and going along with Aelin’s schemes, which now that she thought about it, maybe was not such a good thing after all.

“You can call me Captain,” the woman said. “But my name is Lysandra.”

“Lysandra the pirate?” Aelin said, as though she couldn’t resist tempting fate. She couldn’t help it; everything about the woman seemed in contrast. She had the coloring and posture of a doll, but a dangerous air and wicked smile.

“If it makes you feel better to call me a pirate, then alright,” the woman—Lysandra—said. “But it’s not what I truly am.”

Aelin and Rowan stood in hesitant silence, exchanging glances. They were both aware that there was _something_ more to the woman, but Rowan seemed just as clueless as Aelin.  

“I punish the wicked,” Lysandra said, and there was a smile on her face, even as her hand curled into a fist, drawing Aelin’s eye to a mark on her arm.

No—not a mark. A brand.

Aelin let out a soft gasp, and opened her mouth to say something. She didn’t know what, just something, something to describe the horror as she recognized what Lysandra had gone through—

“It is a reminder,” Lysandra interrupted her gravely, staring at the mangled brand on her arm. “Of the evil that still lurks in the world.”

“So you were—” Aelin began, but Lysandra interrupted her.

“Not exactly,” Lysandra said. “Well, for about five minutes. Enough to get a brand on me. I was lucky. My…talents got me out of that.”  

There was a brief silence, and Aelin thought of the people they’d been sailing with. Gods, they were slavers, and she hadn’t had the faintest idea.

“Others,” Lysandra said, as though she could read Aelin’s thoughts, “were not so lucky. And so this became my life’s work.”

“What, burning down ships? Taking hostages?” Aelin asked, raising an eyebrow.

The captain opened her mouth to answer, but the door opened, and a young girl stood with a tray of tea balanced on her hands. Beautiful, Aelin thought—were it not for the vicious scars gouged down her cheeks. Aelin dragged her eyes away from the sight, surprised to see the child looking at her curiously, without a hint of fear.

“Hello,” Aelin said softly, and she smiled at the child. The girl hesitated, but smiled back. It was rare, she thought, rare to see a child so damaged but so happy.

Lysandra must have gestured the child forward, because the girl walked over and set the tea on the table between Aelin and the captain.

“Thank you, Evangeline,” the captain said, her voice softer than it was with Aelin and Rowan. “Why don’t you see if Wesley needs any help below deck?”

The girl left as quietly as she’d walked on, and Aelin turned her sharp eyes back to the captain. There were a thousand questions in her face, she was sure.

“That,” said Lysandra, “is my life’s work. Not just burning down ships or taking hostages.” She raised an eyebrow. “I free slaves—everywhere my ship goes, I free them, regardless of what their country chooses to call them. Slaves, contracted servants, courtesans.”

Aelin took a steady breath to hide what she felt. What this captain was doing—it was a dream that Aelin had held in her heart for years.

“That is very noble,” said Rowan, and Lysandra’s eyes snapped towards him. They were some of the first words he’d spoken to the captain.

The captain smirked. “Some would say not,” she said, “but I believe that making the world a better place sometimes involves burning the old one.”

“Bold words,” Aelin mused.

The captain’s eyes turned back to Aelin, green and almost glowing in the low light. “Yes, indeed,” she said. “Be assured that I have plans just as bold.”

“Plans,” Aelin repeated.

“Yes,” Lysandra said again. She glanced down at a map in front of her. A map of Adarlan, Aelin realized. It was covered in markings and codes that she largely couldn’t decipher, but one thing stood out—an area of the map, circled in ink that was as red as blood.

Endovier.

“Bold indeed,” Rowan murmured, his eyes catching on the ink as easily as Aelin’s did. _Bold_ suddenly became an understatement—Endovier was horrific, beyond words. Barbaric. It was everything that Aelin hated, in one place.

And here was a woman daring to do something about it.

“I’ve shown you this because I don’t believe you’ll try and stop me. Am I wrong?” the captain asked.

There was a moment of tension like a breath held a beat too long, and Aelin looked into the captain’s eyes again, and knew that if the woman perceived her to be a threat, it would no longer be so easy to get off this ship.

“No,” said Aelin. “Not at all.”

The hum of danger in the background faded, and Aelin saw Rowan relax beside her. So he had felt the tension too.

“Well, then, since we’re such good friends now, any place in particular you’d like me to drop you off?” Lysandra asked.

“Wherever’s fine,” Aelin said. Rowan and Aelin stood up together, and Lysandra eyed the both of them once again. Aelin could feel her eyes on them, even as they turned to walk out the door.

Just as Aelin reached out for the door that Rowan was holding open for her, she turned around to look at the captain one last time.

The spark of danger in the room was gone, but Aelin felt the same tug that’d she had felt with that horrid man in Adarlan, just a short while ago. Like an echo, or a promise.

Later, she would have no idea why she said what she did. “Pay a visit to Rifthold,” Aelin said. “I think there’s something waiting for you there.”

The captain raised an eyebrow, but she said nothing as Rowan and Aelin walked out without another word.  


	13. Chapter 13

Lysandra decided to drop them off at Bellhaven, as it was only a few days’ sail away. It was a shorter route than it might have been, but it still meant Aelin and Rowan were stuck on a ship with people they barely trusted.

And it was clear that Lysandra was just as suspicious towards Rowan and Aelin as they were of her. She and her crew remained wary around them, but Aelin and Rowan kept another close eye on the marauders, as well. Aelin stayed in her Fae form, both so she could hear and see everything, and communicate with Rowan much more discreetly.  

_Have you figured it out yet?_ Aelin asked Rowan, sending the thought down their mating bond even as she appeared to be lounging against the railing.  

_No_ , came Rowan’s reply. The sense of something _off_ about Lysandra had stayed with them, from her watchful eyes to her changing scent to the glimmer of power that sometimes emanated from her. Aelin and Rowan had talked and talked about it, but they couldn’t figure it out—other than the fact that they were both fairly certain Lysandra wasn’t human. Not entirely, anyway.

Aelin sighed in frustration. They weren’t more than a half-day’s sail from Bellhaven, and they still had no real idea about the truth. She turned away from the railing, only to find Lysandra watching her, those intent green eyes following her every move. It reminded Aelin of the tales of ghost leopards that she had heard, silent and stealthy and very deadly.

_She has a ghost leopard’s eyes_ , Aelin thought, and she wasn’t sure if it was to herself or Rowan.

“It’s too bad you two are going,” Lysandra said, leaning against the rail next to Aelin. “I think you and Brandubh would fit in well here, given time.”

Aelin was silent for a moment, startled by the truth in Lysandra’s voice. She had said it with a smirk, almost as a joke, but Aelin could see she was serious, too.

“Maybe someday,” Aelin said, and surprised herself again by how much she meant it.  

Lysandra nodded, but her eyes were already turning back towards the sea. Aelin had noticed that Lysandra was almost always moving, or scanning the horizon, and she wondered if those five minutes and the brand that came with them had hurt the captain more than she would admit.

“After you drop us off,” Aelin began, “where are you off to?”

“I was planning on the Southern Continent,” Lysandra said, and Aelin inclined her head at the trust the captain was showing her.

“You have family there? Or allegiance of some kind?”

“No allegiance there,” said Lysandra, chuckling dryly. “No piece of dirt holds any claim on me. The only home I know is the deck of my ship and my own skin, and I leave them sometimes, too.” Those too-green eyes glanced at Aelin again. Aelin froze for a moment, and then gasped as the pieces snapped into place.  

Lysandra had just trusted her with a much larger truth.

“You’re a—”

“Clever,” the captain said. “I was hoping you’d understand.” Despite her tone, the captain sank a step away, and Aelin recognized the defensive position she was taking. “Although some are rather untrusting of my kind.”

Aelin deliberately relaxed against the railing. “And some are rather untrusting of mine.” Lysandra could take that however she wanted—the tipped ears Aelin was sporting now, or, if she had felt it, the magic that hummed deep in Aelin’s bones.  

Lysandra’s smirk changed until it became a full, golden smile. “I think you and I could change the world,” said Lysandra.  

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer,” Aelin replied, with a grin of her own. “Someday.” Lysandra nodded again. “So—the Southern Continent. If you hold no allegiance there, then why?”

“Don’t worry, love, I haven’t forgotten about your Rifthold tip,” Lysandra said. “But I heard some very interesting rumors from an old friend. There’s someone I’d like to meet, and he’s living on the Southern Continent right now.”  

Aelin nodded and looked towards the same horizon that Lysandra did. There was a look in the captain’s eyes, though, that said Aelin wasn’t seeing the same thing as she was. Aelin left her to her own thoughts, and went to find Rowan.

 

It was only a few hours later that Lysandra ordered the ship’s flags changed from their usual black to the green-and-blue of Fenharrow, and Aelin could see land on the distant horizon. She felt the same thrill as she had when she saw Adarlan come into distant focus—in front of her lay the promise of something _new_ , something she had never seen before.

Rowan came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. The port city slowly grew on the horizon, smaller than Rifthold but more colorful, with bright colored paper hanging from every building.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Aelin breathed, leaning back against Rowan as Lysandra’s crew worked around them to bring the ship into port.

“Beautiful,” Rowan said, but when Aelin looked up at him, his eyes were on her, not the city laid out in front of them.

She couldn’t help but smile. “I know,” she said, and kissed him. Rowan made a soft sound and leaned down further, releasing an arm from around her waist to cup her face, and he ran his thumb along her jaw.

Aelin sighed and would have leaned against him further, but Lysandra delicately clearing her throat interrupted her. Aelin stepped back and laughed at being caught out, but she saw Rowan’s face turning beet red beside her.

Lysandra was a little pink, herself. “I leave you here,” she said, and Aelin turned to see that they had already docked and the crew was unloading some of their bounty. The hostages, it seemed, would remain below decks for now.

“Thank you,” said Aelin. She gestured to the ship’s sails, now being tied to the masts. “For this and for the trust.”

Lysandra smiled at her and Rowan. “I hope we meet again soon.”

Aelin smiled back, and decided to give Lysandra the same trust that she’d been given. “I think we will,” she said. “And, Lysandra? The name’s not Celaena, actually. It’s Aelin.”

Lysandra stiffened and her eyes widened, suddenly taking in Aelin’s hair and eyes like she never had before. Aelin followed Rowan off of the ship, turning one last time to look into Lysandra’s startled eyes. “I hope you find who you’re looking for,” she said. “And I hope we’ll stand together when we change the world.”

And Aelin left without a backward glance, because she knew this wasn’t goodbye. Lysandra might be a shapeshifter, able to blend in anywhere, but Aelin had a feeling she would always be able to find her.  

 

 

Rowan found them an inn in the city, and they sequestered themselves inside, relishing in the room that didn’t sway at all, not one bit. “Those were some bold words, my love,” he murmured against her ear. He ran his hands through her hair, the bright gold hair that had always marked her as an Ashryver, a member of the royal family. Something she had once thought was a prison. But she thought of Lysandra, of what she was doing with only a ship and her own bravery, and Aelin thought that maybe all power wasn’t bad. It didn’t have to be a weight holding her down—it could be the tool that she used to change the world, in the way she had always dreamed of when she was young. She had used to think she was only a naïve child, but the brand on Lysandra’s wrist and the scars running down the child Evangeline’s cheeks flashed through Aelin’s mind. Maybe she couldn’t change the world—but she could try.

“Are you alright?” Rowan murmured, and Aelin knew he was hearing the thundering pulse beating in her chest.

“Yes,” she said, and she turned to him and smiled. “I just got an idea, that’s all.”

They were both exhausted from traveling for so long, and they all but collapsed onto the bed. Rowan was asleep in seconds, his breathing deep and slow beside Aelin. She drew her thumb across his cheekbone, marveling in the softness of his face in the moonlight. Gods, it was so easy to forget how young he was, too. Rowan could be such a force of nature that Aelin often forgot that they were the same age—he seemed so…permanent. He was an immortal Fae warrior, menacing and strong. Or, at least, he looked like one from a distance. But up close, he blushed when people caught them kissing, and always asked Aelin if she was alright, and his eyes would always be too kind for anyone to mistake him for a heartless, cold warrior. Aelin closed her eyes for a moment and thanked the gods again for what they had done. They had given her Rowan, but they had also kept him safe from the world, kept him gentle and kind.  

The moonlight seemed to brush over his skin, not cold or harsh in any way. It was like Deanna had laid down her bow, had inclined her head, had looked Aelin in the eyes and said, “Not this one. Never this one.”

 

It was an hour later and Aelin was still awake, even though her body was exhausted. She was too tired to even shift out of her Fae form, despite the looks it drew, but her mind was racing. Rowan’s quiet breathing beside her had lulled her almost to sleep for a moment, but then the same image of Lysandra and Evangeline flashed behind her eyes again.

The fire in her blood stirred at her thoughts, the part of her that had always been full of righteous vengeance. She could see herself now, with fire in her eyes and Rowan, of course, beside her. Rowan…and others. For the first time, Aelin wanted to draw a court around her, the sort that would change the world.

She tried to focus in on the faces she saw in her created vision of the future, but they were dark and unfocused. A quiet voice whispered _not yet_ , and a sense of peace quelled the magic stirring in her blood.

Aelin’s exhaustion finally took over, and she began to fall asleep, the filtered moonlight still resting on Rowan’s face. In the moment right before her eyes finally slid closed, she realized that the quiet voice she had heard was her own.


	14. Chapter 14

It felt like a luxury to wake up long after the sun had risen. There were no shouting sailors to waken them, and the bed was soft and lush and completely stationary.

The fervor Aelin had felt the night before had lessened during the night. Yet for the first time in a long time, Aelin felt herself thinking of the future without fear or uncertainty. She knew the path she had to take now—but she also knew that it was alright to take some time to get there.

For now, she was content to walk the streets of Bellhaven, her fingers interlaced with Rowan’s. As beautiful as all of Terrasen was, Aelin reveled at the sight of Bellhaven. Whereas Orynth was almost all white stone and gilded roofs, Bellhaven was a city of merchants and trade. Streets were crooked and filled with vendors on all sides, and thin colored paper hung from nearly every building.

It was chaotic, but Aelin didn’t feel nervous or trapped within the labyrinth of streets. She found herself grinning and laughing at the sight of it all. Rowan even let her drag him through the markets, flitting between shops and stopping whenever something caught her eye.

They kept on wandering through the city, both through the lower markets near the port and into the upper markets. In the upper markets, Bellhaven lost some of its haphazard, chaotic feel—the streets were straight and paved meticulously, evidence of planning on every corner. But it still felt like _Bellhaven_ , Aelin realized. She hadn’t known until today that a city could have a personality. She had always been so cut off from the world that these nuances were lost on her—but here she was, in Bellhaven, which was only a city and yet Aelin realized was almost like a person onto itself.

Rowan found them both lunch while Aelin continued to wander through the upper markets, which held the more expensive goods of the city. Apparently, Bellhaven was known for its world-class jewelers. She’d wandered into a store, but all of the jewels were set behind glass barriers, and when Aelin had asked to see one up close, the storeowner had watched her like a hawk the entire time. Aelin wasn’t even sure if the woman had blinked the entire time she was there.

Finally Aelin saw Rowan waiting outside, and she pointed to him lamely. “Ah, I have to go,” she said, holding up her hands in a gesture that she also hoped would show they were completely empty.

“What happened in there?” Rowan asked. He looked at Aelin and then back at the woman still watching her every move.

“A paranoid shop keeper looking after some expensive merchandise,” Aelin said with raised brows. She made sure she was out of storeowner’s line of sight before she continued. “Plus, I heard her whispering to her assistant just as I walked in. Apparently Bellhaven has a jewel thief running amok.”

“And you’re the thief?”

Aelin shrugged, and took the food that Rowan held out to her. It was a kind of meat pie that was wrapped in thin paper, so one could walk and eat at the same time. It was the best kind of food, in Aelin’s opinion.

They walked away from the upper markets, down into a different quarter of the city. It was just a bit livelier here, as it was in the other lower markets, and Aelin wondered if it was because they were bothered less by thieves, or just didn’t care.

Aelin saw a stand selling hats of all shapes and sizes, and she ran over to it and grinned. “Rowan!” she called. “You  _have_ to try this on.”

He obliged her and put on the hat, an emerald green with an enormous white feather sticking out of it. It was, truly, one of the worst hats she’d ever seen. “It matches your eyes,” Aelin giggled, pulling the hat down so it rested cockeyed on his head.

“Is this what Brandubh wears, my lady?” Rowan asked, bending at the waist into a grand, sweeping bow.

“You tell me,” said Aelin, but she couldn’t keep in her grin at Rowan’s theatrics.

He laughed and put the hat back, inclining his head at the wary merchant. “And how exactly did you pick our elaborate disguises back on Lysandra’s boat?” Rowan asked. He tried on a hat far too large for him, and Aelin held back a grin as she answered.

“Well, your name was just something I pulled out of the blue,” Aelin said. “The name I used…has a slightly longer story behind it.”

“Celaena?”

“Yes,” Aelin said. They moved on to the next cart, which held beautiful creations made of fine glass.

“I used to hate my name,” she began, twirling a piece of spun glass around her fingers. Light glinted off it, showcasing the beautiful colors that ran throughout. She felt Rowan watching her, and she knew she didn’t have to explain herself—she never did, not with him—but it felt _good_. Like another step away from the pain of her past. “I wanted to become a character in one of my books. For a while I had a dream of running away, slipping into the night unseen.”

It had been her deepest desire, one she had never told anyone. Not even Aedion. How could she tell him, when he smiled so fiercely at her, and didn’t seem to notice that she was drowning in life at the castle? Yet she glanced over and saw no judgment in Rowan’s eyes, only his quiet and devoted attention.

“I had a plan, actually,” Aelin continued, moving on to another merchant’s stall. Countless spices covered his stall, and she picked up one vial, letting her eyes close as she smelled it. Cinnamon. “I even had a name picked out,” she huffed out a laugh.

“Celaena?” Rowan asked again.

Aelin nodded and smiled at him. “Celaena Sardothien.” It was the heroine of one of her favorite series—and she had chosen it because Celaena was everything Aelin had longed to be. She was free, and brave, and made friends everywhere she went. Life for Celaena was easy, carefree. So Aelin thought life _as_ Celaena might be the same.

“I like Aelin better,” Rowan said, his voice low, and Aelin turned to him, a true smile spreading across her face.

“So do I,” she said slowly, and she laughed in delight when she realized just how true that was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shorter chapter! There are a few things coming up in this fic soon that I needed to sort out (timeline-wise), so enjoy a semi-filler chapter. 
> 
> Also, bonus points to everyone who caught the Lillian Gordaina reference. Vague nods to the main series give me life.


	15. Chapter 15

They spent two more days in Bellhaven before they decided to move on.

They had both grown weary of traveling on boats, and because they would have to cross the Dead Islands if they went by sea, Rowan and Aelin had agreed it would be better to travel on land for a while. After all, pirates were known to roam the Dead Islands, and Aelin doubted they’d be the same kind of pirates that Lysandra had been.

They had also agreed that, for once, they needed to split up. Aelin offered to find them horses, and Rowan went off to find them food that would travel well.

 

Rowan wandered down to the docks. He had already gotten bread, hard cheese, and apples that would last them, but he thought some salted fish wouldn’t do them any harm, either. The nearest town was only a day’s ride away, but it wouldn’t be a proper city like Bellhaven, and Rowan wanted to be sure they had enough food, just in case.

The docks were busy, as they always were in Bellhaven. Three new ships had docked just that morning, two of them merchant ships and one passenger ship, like the own Aelin and Rowan had been on until they’d come across Lysandra.

Rowan looked down and bit his lip to hold in a smile. He couldn’t imagine what his cousins would think of his life now—especially Enda. Rowan, sailing with pirates? Unimaginable. Even if Rowan did write them a letter, he wasn’t sure they would believe him.

Still smiling, Rowan kept walking through the hum of activity on the docks. The passenger ship was unloading now, people milling about and luggage being tossed from the ship into the waiting arms of the crew.

More passengers got off the ship, and suddenly Rowan found himself in a crowd. His mouth tightened; he didn’t like crowds, not at all. He began to weave his way out of the mass of people, which was easier than he expected. Everyone around him was human, with rounded ears and eyes that glistened with a hint of fear when they saw him.

He murmured soft apologies and made himself as unintimidating as possible, keeping his eyes on the ground and his mouth firmly closed to keep his sharp canines out of sight. He noticed lots of eyes drawn to the sprawling tattoos on his left arm, but there wasn’t much he could do about that, considering he had decided to wear a lighter shirt with short sleeves.

Rowan kept his eyes on the ground, maneuvering through the crowd mostly by his peripheral vision. He was almost to the edge of the crowd, and he breathed a sigh of relief, and—

Rowan ran right into another male who was nearly as tall as him—rare, especially on this continent.

“I’m sorry—” Rowan began, and then he froze. He blinked in surprise, staring at the male before him. The male looked almost exactly like Aelin, his shoulder-length golden hair matching hers, and a haughty set to his jaw and blue-gold eyes that mirrored Aelin's exactly.

Aedion. The male must be Aedion. But Aelin hadn’t told him that she’d contacted her cousin—maybe she’d forgotten.

“Don’t be sorry,” Aedion purred, and he stepped closer to Rowan. Rowan wasn’t sure how things were done on this continent, but it seemed a little too close to him. The male ran a finger down Rowan’s tattooed arm, and Rowan’s cheeks grew hot with a furious blush as he realized just what was going on.

“I—um—” Rowan stuttered. What has he supposed to say? _Hello, my mate is your cousin! I’ve heard great things about you!_

“What beautiful tattoos these are,” Aedion continued, his hand now resting on Rowan’s bicep. Rowan was…fairly certain he wasn’t really talking about his tattoos.

He opened his mouth—to say what, he hadn’t decided yet—when a shocked voice cut through the air.

“ _Aedion?”_

The male—definitely Aedion, then—whipped around at the sound of Aelin’s voice. Rowan breathed a sigh of relief, and Aedion seemed to forget all about him as Aelin ran up to him and engulfed him in a hug.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she said, laughing and crying all at once. Aedion gripped her back, lifting her off the ground.

“I’ve been looking for you, Aelin,” Aedion said, his voice thick with emotion.

She finally let him go and walked over to Rowan. He couldn’t help but smile as she wrapped her arm around his waist, fitting into his side like she was made to stand there.

“Well, you found us,” Aelin said, and Rowan leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

“Us?” Aedion asked, his voice strained.

“This is Rowan Whitethorn,” Aelin said, “my mate.”

For a moment Rowan thought that Aelin’s cousin was going to faint. His face turned pale, and he stared at them like they had just announced they were shapeshifters. 

Rowan could recognize a male who needed help. “Should we go someplace more private?” he asked. Aedion nodded, too much and too fast to be casual, but it was a start.

 

They wandered down to a small sandy beach away from the docks, and sat in the shade of the trees by the water. The short walk had seemed to calm Aedion down, but once they reached the shore, he began cycling through questions at a mile a minute.

“You have a _mate_?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s— _him_?”

“Also a yes.”

Aedion went back to staring at Rowan in awe, which made Rowan blush more.

_Was he flirting with you before I got there?_ Aelin asked. Even without speaking, he could hear the laughter in her voice.

_Yes_ , Rowan replied wearily, and he sent her the memory, mortifying as it was. He could see her bite her lip to keep from laughing.

Aedion, meanwhile, seemed to have changed from confusion to indignation.

“You _left_ me, Aelin,” he said. “I thought—I thought we didn’t do that to each other.”

Aelin glanced over at Rowan, and she didn’t need to send him a thought for him to know what she meant. He nodded, and walked away, to leave his mate and her cousin to work out what they needed to.

 

“I had to,” Aelin said, her voice soft and as gentle as she could make it. “I was—suffocating, in that place. I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was afraid of myself,” Aelin explained, looking down at her hands. She opened her palm and cradled a single flame in it, the flickering light beating like a small heart. Aedion gaped at the sight of it—he had never seen Aelin in control of her magic like this. She held out her hand and he held out his, gingerly. Aelin slid the flame over to his hands, and he sucked in a breath when it danced over his skin but did not burn.

“I learned many things,” said Aelin. “I learned that I didn’t have to be afraid of myself, or my crown. I know you always wanted to be a part of my court, and that I always promised you.” Aelin called the flame back to her and let it weave between her fingers. “But the truth was that I was terrified of ruling, or having power. I let other people convince me that I was a monster.”

“You’re not. You never were,” Aedion growled. He had always been one of her biggest defenders.

“I know,” Aelin said. What she didn’t say was: _I know that now_.

They were silent for a moment, watching a merchant ship leave Bellhaven’s harbor. Its sails caught a quick wind, and Aelin smiled, wondering if her mate had sent it that way.

“And you’re ready to rule now?”

Aelin looked over at Aedion. His face was almost childlike in its innocence. Strange, Aelin thought. Aedion had been trained as a warrior, had seen and fought in a few skirmishes, but there was still so much that was foreign to him. She knew that he didn’t understand what she had gone through, not entirely.

It wasn’t something she blamed him for. She thought again of innocence, of the cruelties of the world and how one could be sheltered, and she smiled at Aedion, because he might have lived in a world where such pain wasn’t foreign to him.

“Almost,” Aelin finally said. “Almost.”

She stood up and brushed the sand from her clothes, and held out a hand for Aedion. He grasped it and pushed off the sand, something in his expression tightening.

“You will be the first to take the blood oath in my court,” Aelin promised. “But you don’t need me to change the world. You can do it on your own—you’ve always been able to.”

“But—”

“Aedion, you have always been my protector,” Aelin said. “But that has never been the only thing that you are. Allow yourself to be more.” She stepped closer to Aedion and rested a hand on his cheek. “See the world. See all that you can be—and then, when the time is right, we’ll come back to each other.”

Aedion let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

“Be a blockade runner like Galan. Go to Adarlan and see what there is to see there—go hunt pirates, if you want to.” Aelin let out a laugh, and even Aedion smiled. “I, of all people, know what’s it like to feel defined by one thing.” She dropped her hand and stepped back. “But you don’t have to be defined by me. You shouldn’t. And I know that it can be frightening to let go of who you think you are—”

There was a quiet sound behind her, and she turned to see Rowan walking up to them. A slow, subconscious smile spread over her face. “But trust me when I say that it’ll all be worth it in the end,” she said.

She linked hands with Rowan, and then Aedion, and they all walked in a chain back to the docks. Aelin informed Rowan that she had, indeed, found horses for them, and they were waiting at a nearby stable. Rowan had found almost everything he’d wanted for them, too.

It had seemed too soon for them to leave Aedion then, so they found an inn along a quieter street, where they could sit and talk over a midday meal. Aelin filled Aedion in on everything that happened over in Wendlyn—Auberon, Mistward, Beltane, her birthday. Rowan even interjected a few times, and Aelin had to bite her lip to keep from smiling as she watched her mate and her cousin talk. They got along well, quite well, actually. The beginnings of a court, she thought, even if all she did was sip the cheap ale the inn had given them, and watch Rowan and Aedion get to know each other.  

At one point, Rowan got up to use the restroom, and Aedion leaned over the table to be closer to Aelin. “I see it now,” he said, his voice low but sweet.

“See what?”

“Everything,” Aedion said, smiling. “What happened to you in Wendlyn—what he helped you become. I see why you love him, and how much he loves you.”

Aelin’s breath caught and she blinked back the tears in her eyes. “Do you—do you think that my parents—”

“They’ll love him,” Aedion said firmly. Then his eyes softened. “Write to them, Aelin. They’re just worried about you. Tell them what happened and where you are now.” Aedion tilted his head toward the hallway Rowan had walked down. “Who you’re with now. I think they’ll be more accepting than you think.” 

Just then, Rowan walked back into the room, sliding back into the bench beside Aelin. “I thought I was the one giving you wise advice,” Aelin teased, even though there were tears still lingering in her eyes. Rowan reached down and squeezed her hand under the table, and she smiled at him in return.  

“I think we both made some good points,” Aedion conceded. He turned his gaze back to Rowan, and Aelin caught the gleam in his eye a second too late. “So, do you have any brothers, or sisters, or cousins, or—”

“ _Aedion_.”

“Joking! I’m joking!” he said. Aelin might have believed him had he not turned to Rowan and whispered, “I’m definitely not joking. So, the hair? Is that a family thing? What about the tattoos? I’m not going to lie, very much my type—”

“And I think it’s time Rowan and I got going,” Aelin interrupted. So far Rowan had liked Aedion, but even Aelin would admit that Aedion was someone who took some getting used to.

They paid their tab and left the inn, Rowan picking up the last of the dried food on their way to the stables where two horses waited for them. The mood quickly turned solemn, and even as Aedion helped them pack up, she could see hesitation begin to flicker in his eyes.

Rowan swung onto his horse, and there was a gentle question in his eyes. Aelin nodded, and Rowan started down the path out of the city, giving Aelin a final moment alone with her cousin—he had said goodbye to Aedion earlier, with a surprisingly heartfelt arm-clasp from them both.

Aelin untied her horse and turned to Aedion, worrying the reins between her fingers for a moment before she forced herself to stillness. Aedion stood in front of her, finally turning away from checking her horse’s tack for the third time. There were tears gleaming in his eyes now, and she could see his knuckles turning white where he gripped her saddle. 

“Go hunt pirates, Aedion. I think it will suit you,” Aelin said, and she placed a hand on her cousin’s cheek, wiping away a tear that had fallen down it. She felt the cold trail of a tear down her own face. “I’ll be back soon.”

She turned, body stiff, and mounted her horse, ignoring the way that Aedion’s eyes lingered on her back, the way her heart clenched at the feeling that she was walking away from him yet again. It wasn’t the end, she knew it—she knew in her heart that it wasn’t. There was still a glimmer of hurt, though.

Aelin couldn’t resist turning around one last time. The afternoon sun filtered through his hair and turned it to a glowing gold, just as it did with hers. Her twin in all but blood. “If you ever see a ship called the _Caraverre_ , leave it be,” Aelin said. “Or, on second thought—say hello to Captain Lysandra for me.”

Aedion’s jaw fell open, and Aelin could practically see the words he was about to say— _you want me to say hello to a pirate? You were cavorting with_ pirates? _—_ but she felt her heart seize again at the sight of her cousin, and she turned away with a final smile. She wouldn’t say goodbye.

It wasn’t the end. It was a beginning.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too lazy to proofread this chapter....sorry about that + the inevitable typos.

They rode inland but continued to loosely follow the coast. Rowan had come up with the plan to follow the edge of the continent south, through Eyllwe and then north to Melisande, where they could cross the Gulf of Oro or head towards the Southern Continent.

As they left the sightline of the ocean, they also lost the sea breezes, and the early summer heat quickly caught up with them. Midday, when the sun beat down on them both, Aelin felt very grateful for a mate blessed with ice and wind. A cool breeze followed them for the rest of the afternoon, and Aelin smiled at Rowan every time it brushed the damp hairs at her neck.

They had ridden far enough inland that the village they had been heading to, which was a half-days ride straight from Bellhaven, was now almost twice that.

“Do you still want to go there?” Rowan asked. They had stopped to give the horses a break under the shade of a thicket of trees growing around a natural spring.

“Well, I think Aedion was right. I should—I want to write to my parents,” Aelin said. “I just don’t know if the village will be large enough to have a courier there. At least, one that will go to Terrasen.”

“So you don’t want to go to the village?” Rowan asked. “At least, not unless they have a way to get a message to your parents?”

Aelin thought about it for a moment. “No,” she decided. “I’m enjoying my time with you in the wilderness.” She chucked a dead leaf at Rowan, whooping as it landed in his hair. He laughed with her good-naturedly and brushed it out. “I don’t know, I just don’t want to take the risk that we spend so much time going there and it doesn’t work out.”

“Love,” Rowan said. “I appreciate your dedication to staying together, but there’s no need.” Aelin furrowed her brows. “I’ll fly over, see if there is, and be back in a few hours, at the most.”

Aelin smacked herself in the forehead. “And I’m an idiot,” she laughed. “Yes, of course. Sorry, darling, you haven’t shifted in so long I forgot it was really an option.”

“And I’m happy to have you alone here so you don’t have to keep shifting yourself,” Rowan said. It was true; Aelin spent a lot of time in her human body these days, much as she didn’t want to. It was difficult to determine people’s attitudes toward Fae and magic in an instant, and besides, two Fae drew a lot more attention than a Fae and a human.

“I’ll go see if there is,” Rowan continued. “You stay here and, if anything happens, know that you’re stronger than anyone else on this continent.”

“Even you?” Aelin asked. It was an old joke, but she couldn’t help it.

“ _Almost_ anyone else,” Rowan quipped back. Aelin grinned and kissed him one last time before he left.

“Don’t worry,” Aelin said. “If someone tries to steal from me, they’ll regret it.”

“Oh, I’m sure they will,” Rowan laughed. With a small wave, he turned away, shifting in a flash of bright light, and then he was rocketing away into the sky, carried even faster by updrafts of his own making.

Aelin retreated back to the shade with the horses; without Rowan there, the heat was stifling again. And Rowan had been telling the truth earlier—even if trouble went looking for her, there wasn’t much to worry about. As much as she would have hated to admit it just a few months ago, Aelin knew she was one of the most powerful magic users on her continent. Maybe in the world. She hadn’t had a chance to practice her magic, but she still had brute force on her side.

The horses whickered to her as she returned, and Aelin made a note to herself to take up practicing with Rowan again when he came back. There was a lot she still had to learn.

For now, she opened the saddlebags to find the parchment and ink that she’d put inside. There were just a few sheets, really only enough for emergencies, and not nearly enough for Aelin to write down everything that had happened, but Aedion had been write about another thing, too. Her parents had always worried about her, and they were sure to be very worried now. Maybe Aedion running after her had appeased them, but Aedion was sure to be writing back soon himself.

She couldn’t avoid them forever, so she took a deep breath and began to tell her parents what had happened.

 

True to his word, Rowan was back before the sun had set. He flew into the makeshift camp that Aelin had kept up, winds billowing around him, and shifted almost before he reached the ground.

Aelin opened her mouth to ask, what she saw the answer written on his face already. There was no courier in the village.

“It’s alright,” Aelin said, knowing that Rowan would somehow try to apologize. She held up the milky parchment, now folded and tied with string, which held the letter to her parents. “At least I have it done now.”

“I’m proud of you,” Rowan said. Aelin blinked back tears and nodded. “And,” he continued, “Some townspeople told me there’s a town a few days from here which should have one. Further inland, right along our path. Apparently no one wants to be on the coast near the Dead Islands.”

“I can’t imagine why not,” Aelin said, her face innocent. “But thank you for flying out.”

Rowan inclined his head and set about looking through his saddlebags for their dinner.

“Before dinner,” Aelin said, “I’d love to train some. I want—I want to continue working like we did at Mistward. I want to get better.”

A slow grin spread over Rowan’s face. Aelin grew he loved his magic, and he got to use it so infrequently here. “I would like that, too.”

They moved away from the copse of trees, and the horses, who they suspected wouldn’t be as tolerate as the horses in Mistward, who were used to magic all around them. This area of Fenharrow was only lightly forested, and it was easy to find a grass meadow for them to practice in.

They warmed up slowly, like stretching muscles neither of them had used properly in a long time. Aelin’s magic purred and unfurled in her chest, and she let it slowly spread, flames licking her fingers soon turning into columns of fire that circled the meadow.

“And I’m the dramatic one,” Rowan said, rolling his eyes and simultaneously creating pillars of ice to stand beside Aelin’s fire. They should have melted in an instant—because the magic she was letting out was not the gentle, unburning fire she had shown Aedion—but they stood, kept up by Rowan’s iron will.

Aelin rolled her shoulders and let out her magic even more. The columns collapsed, turning into a solid wall of flames that separated Aelin and her mate from the rest of the world. Red and orange flames danced alongside hotter blue and white flames, stirred up further by winds that Rowan made. She also felt him slide around a shield around them—more to protect the forest than to protect them, she gathered.

Aelin laughed in delight and ran over to Rowan, who was watching the swirling colors around them. He grabbed her and nipped playfully at her ear, and Aelin squealed in delight, ducking out of his arms to see if he would chase her.

He did. That’s when they really started to have fun.

Aelin ran away from Rowan, dodging the ice walls that sprang up before her, sending twisting flames behind her—the sort that didn’t burn—and twisting away when he was inches away from touching her. Her magic was a wild, writhing thing, and it delighted as much as she did in the reverie that she felt.

It felt like a sigh of relief to let go of the power that had been building in her for weeks. Rowan had told her back in Mistward that would be important to regularly wear down her magic so it wouldn’t overwhelm her, but there was a difference between knowing something and feeling it. It had been like an itch growing that Aelin hadn’t even realized, until she felt the relief that came with letting her magic run wild.

The moon was high in the sky by the time that Aelin flopped to the ground, her flames sputtering out as exhaustion caught up with her. Rowan handed her a small pile of food, which she was immediately grateful for.

Rowan began eating beside her, but their hours of practice hadn’t seemed to affect his energy or his magic. Even while he munched on an apple, he was making ice sculptures around them, like the frozen garden of a wealthy noble family.

Aelin giggled at his antics—she had never seen Rowan using his magic this playfully before. Then again, she’d only seen him do major things back at Mistward, when he was still just her mentor and she was just his student.

Eventually they wandered back to where they had left their horses, not wanting to leave them alone for the night. Aelin fell asleep in moments, lulled by the slow, steady breathing of Rowan beside her.

 

They left their camp mid-morning, leisurely making their way across Fenharrow. It really was a gorgeous country, not as populated as Terrasen or Adarlan, but beautiful in its rolling hills, covered in rippling tall grass. They didn’t see a soul the entire first day of travel, but there was something about the quiet that Aelin liked. Aelin brought it up to Rowan, after they had been traveling in comfortable silence for some time—she found she liked the quiet, slow pace of the countryside as much as she liked being in a city, surrounded by people.

He had only smiled at her, and when she tried to figure out why, he only shook his head and cantered ahead of her, forcing Aelin to chase after him, laughing.

The second day was just as leisurely, and Rowan and Aelin continued to play with their magic throughout the day—the horses, for better or for worse, had gotten used to them. Aelin and Rowan even took turns staying with the horses in the afternoon—when Rowan was on break, he shifted into a hawk and soared in the sky above them, while Aelin remained below and held the reins of his horse. She could see his delight in every sharp turn and gust of wind that blew her way. Aelin knew that Rowan didn’t like cities as much as she did, and when he shifted, it was easy to see why—why would he want to be in a city, cooped amongst people and buildings, when he could be soaring in the sky instead?

Aelin, for her part, was delighting in remaining in her Fae body. When it was Rowan’s turn to watch the horses, she let them wander ahead until they were out of sight. Then, she ran as fast as she could, marveling in how the world blurred around her and she felt like she was flying almost as fast as Rowan.

She always caught up with them too fast, but it was worth it to see the smile that lit up Rowan’s face whenever he saw her.

They made camp an hour before the sun went down, finding another thicket of trees to shelter them from any weather. Aelin began making their dinner tonight, and Rowan shifted again to see how much further they were from the town.

It was good news—they were only a few hours ride away. If they left early, they’d be there just in time for lunch.

Rowan helped Aelin train in the last vestiges of light, a final chance to wear down her magic before she would have to contain it again. Despite the stifling that would come with the city, though, Aelin was glad they were going. The letter to her parents felt like a weight in her pack, something that she needed to get off her chest.

Morning couldn’t come soon enough.

  

Aelin woke up at dawn and smiled at the pleasant tingle that came with watching the rising sun. Whether it was the beauty of the view, or her magic waking up with the sun, she wasn’t entirely sure. Nevertheless, Rowan and Aelin packed up camp quickly, the relaxed pace from the previous two days forgotten.

They made it to the town just before noon, and slipped Aelin’s letter to the courier first thing. Aelin breathed a sigh of relief, like a letter was a weight lifted off her shoulders.

Regardless of the letter, they would have needed to stop for supplies soon. Rowan knew how to hunt and which plants were poisonous—of course he did—but he had accepted that Aelin’s standards for food fell somewhat above meat on a stick with a side of edible weeds. There were certain comforts she wanted. Bread. Cheese. Chocolate. Not that much, in Aelin’s opinion.

Rowan and Aelin began to wander the town, first finding a place to stay the night, and then looking for new supplies. They also needed to trade out their horses, which were exhausted from the never-tiring Fae driving them further than any human would.

“What we could really use would be some Asterion horses,” Rowan sighed. They had been walking all over the town—not that it was particularly large—trying to find the best horses available.

“And I agree,” Aelin said, looking over the horses in front of them. There were only three stables in the town, and this was the final one. The horses were decent, but certainly not comparable to Asterion’s. “But they’re not as common here as they are in Wendlyn. There aren’t many people wealthy enough to own them.”

Rowan nodded in response and looked again at the horses in front of them, as if gauging them against the ones they’d previously seen. Rowan had grown up among Fae nobility, who had centuries to accumulate wealth. He had told her once that he had thought Asterion horses were the only breed of horses until he left for Mistward.

“So, yes or no?” Aelin asked, tipping her head towards the horses in front of them.  

Rowan hesitated a moment. “Alright,” he said. “We’ll come back for them tomorrow, when we’re ready to leave.” Aelin snorted at the disappointment in his tone, but raised her eyebrows innocently when he glanced back at her.

“Let’s go find some lunch,” she said. “I’m on the brink of starvation.”

Rowan grumbled something about overdramatic Ashryvers, but he still slipped his hand into hers and let her lead him into town again.

 

The markets of this town weren’t as colorful or chaotic as those in Bellhaven, but they weren’t as straightforward as Adarlan’s had been, either. The markets followed a river that cut through the town, which was slow-moving and shallow but, as Rowan and Aelin were told, could become swift and deadly during the mid-summer rains.

Aelin led Rowan down through the streets until they reached the town square, filled with people shouting out their wares and arguing about prices. Aelin smiled at having found a place where the pulse of the city seemed to beat loudly.

Rowan sidled closer to her, and she leaned against his arm. She knew he was less comfortable in crowds than she was.

They made their way further into the square, and Rowan still seemed tense, shooting glances over his shoulder. Aelin turned to suggest Rowan go somewhere less crowded to find them lunch when she felt him stiffen beside her. She glanced at him in worry, and Rowan leaned down, his mouth resting against her ear.

“Aelin,” he said, speaking in a whisper so soft she could barely hear it, “I think we’re being followed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH. 
> 
> So, who do you guys think is following them?


	17. Chapter 17

Aelin stiffened immediately.

She shot Rowan a questioning glance, allowing his hand on her lower back to guide her through the crowd. Surely no one had recognized her—she had barely been seen in public before she went to Wendlyn, and this wasn’t even her country. Likewise for Rowan—he was an ocean away from anyone who might know him. So why were they being followed?

Her mind flashed for a moment to a memory of Adarlan, of silver eyes and wandering hands, and she curled her hand into a fist. If anyone tried that now, she would burn their hands off before they could realize their mistake.

Rowan glanced at her, surprise evident on his face, and Aelin realized she had allowed her aggression to seep out. _Sorry_ , she thought, wincing at him, but he smirked back at her.

_I don’t mind_ , he replied, and Aelin allowed herself a small smile before looking over her shoulder. Her nostrils flared, delicately scenting the air. Nothing but the smell of spices and unwashed humans. Aelin glanced at the crowd for a moment longer before turning back, continuing to part through the waves of people with Rowan beside her.

_I didn’t see anyone_ , she thought, raising an eyebrow at Rowan. She didn’t think he was lying—she would never think that—but perhaps he had been confused.

Aelin looked over at her mate to see he was still wary, casting glances behind them. She looked behind them once more, to check again, and—

There. Within the market-day crowds was a figure moving too quickly, too intently, and most importantly, too _directly at them_ to be casual. Aelin could feel Rowan’s alarm and knew he had seen the figure, too.

Aelin began to pull up her magic, holding the fire just inside her palms, should the need arise. She felt a ripple of magic from Rowan, and knew he was doing the same.

“Shall we find out what exactly this is about?” Aelin said, smiling. If anyone was stupid enough to take on Aelin and her mate, then they deserved what they got.

Aelin strolled casually down a wide, abandoned alley, Rowan following behind her. She walked several paces in before turning to face the entrance, closing off her expression. Rowan stood at her side, their shoulders brushing, and she saw him roll back his shoulders, drawing himself to his full height. She smiled slightly, pitying whoever came around the corner. If it were some common thief hoping to profit, they would find themselves in a very compromising situation.

Aelin took in a deep breath, straining to hear above the thud of her heartbeat in her ears.

Then she heard the soft scrape of footsteps nearing the alley, and Rowan tensed beside her.

A hooded figure strode into the alleyway without pretense, and Aelin felt her breath catch for a moment as the figure stopped only a dozen feet from her.

They lifted their hood off, and Aelin felt her breath catch again at the sight—they looked almost god-like. The figure was a powerful Fae male, she could see that now, his body rivaling Rowan’s for size, and he had golden hair, a shade darker than hers, and warm brown skin. He was—beautiful, really.

And he was staring right at her, his nostrils flared and mouth open enough that she could see his elongated canines. He was…smelling her?

Aelin felt her anger turning into hesitation as the male took another step towards her—although he stopped at Rowan’s low growl—but he closed his eyes, scenting the air again as though it were divine.

“Don’t you smell it?” the male said. Of all the things she had thought he might say, that was certainly not one of them. But the comment wasn’t directed towards her—no, the male was talking to Rowan, who looked just as shocked as Aelin felt.

He turned back to Aelin, his head cocked. “You smell radiant,” he said. He took another swaying step towards her—and she let him, for she could sense no malevolence in his actions, even with his eyes shining with a worship that made her slightly uncomfortable. Before Rowan could growl at the male—because he was certainly about to—the male continued. “Like power,” he gasped.

The powerful male fell to his knees before her, and Aelin couldn’t help but flinch at the painful _thud_ of bone hitting cobblestone. The male didn’t seem to notice, bowing his head and extending his arms towards her. “I am Fenrys, the White Wolf of Doranelle. Allow me to pledge my life to you.”

Aelin’s jaw dropped, and the male remained completely still, groveling in front of her.    

“Should we, uh—should we go somewhere more private?” Aelin offered.

 

Fenrys agreed—although, to be fair, Aelin was finding that he agreed with everything she said—and the three found themselves in a tavern near the pier, one that was willing to take three Fae, two of them males larger than most.

They had gotten a booth—just one glance at the group and suddenly the bar was much emptier than when they arrived—and Aelin sat down first. Fenrys made as if to sit by her, but Rowan slid in inhumanly fast and Aelin bit her lip to hold in a smile. Fenrys stared in confusion for a moment before sitting down on the other side of the booth.

He leaned closer, resting his cheek in his hand and taking another large breath and sighing contently. Aelin figured he wasn’t a danger—if he wanted to hurt her before, he certainly had plenty of opportunities—but it was still a little creepy to be smelled.

They made brief introductions. Fenrys had already announced himself, title and all, and Aelin introduced herself and Rowan. There was a flicker of recognition in Fenrys’ eyes for both their names, but there was surprise, too.

“So, Fenrys—,” she began.

“You have a beautiful voice,” he said, “and smile. And eyes.” He cast a glance at Rowan and smiled, and Aelin noticed the strange male had dimples. “Don’t be jealous, boyo. So do you.”

Rowan gasped like a fish out of water for a moment before Aelin rescued him. “Would you mind explaining yourself?” Aelin asked, looking back towards Fenrys. He was still smiling at her, taking breaths that Aelin thought were deeper than necessary.

“Of course, my lady,” he said. “I was a few towns over and felt something—your magic.” Fenrys was still smiling, but Aelin’s mouth tightened. So her and Rowan’s practice in the woods had not gone as unnoticed as they thought. “I was too far away to get a good sense, at first, but I thought I would take a few jumps, see what I found. And I found you.”

The male sat back, his voice warm and friendly, as though his words made any sense at all.  

“Did you say you were a few _towns_ over? And you…jumped here?” Aelin asked, trying desperately to understand what was going on. She thought of the novels she loved to read, and briefly wondered how her life had become more confounded than even some of her books.

“Well, yes, my lady. With my magic,” Fenrys said. Apparently that was all the explanation he thought necessary. He smiled, and Aelin was stunned for a moment. He was looking at her…almost like Rowan did. Like she had hung the sun and stars—or perhaps she was them.

Fenrys seemed to sense where her thoughts were headed. “It’s a shame you too are mated,” he said casually. Rowan began blushing beside her. “You’re both great catches, really, and now no one else can have you.”

The male pouted for a moment, and Aelin was too shocked to say anything. She felt like she was caught in a riptide, spun around endlessly, unable to make sense of anything going on. “I don’t mind, though,” Fenrys continued, “so long as you let me serve you.” Suddenly the male’s eyes were serious, more so than Aelin had ever seen them in their brief time together. “It would be the greatest honor of my life to serve one so powerful as you.” He bowed his head again, placing a hand over his heart and remaining there, as still as a statue. Aelin had seen full-blooded Fae do that before—stay so still they appeared lifeless.

Aelin resisted the urge to look at Rowan—it was no use, considering he had no idea what was going on, either. “Alright,” she started, her voice hesitant. If the male wanted to pledge himself to her, she supposed she could allow him. “But I’m not Queen, and I won’t be for a while—”

Fenrys’ head snapped up, and he grinned at her, his eyes alight and sharp canines showing. “Really?” he asked, and he was already reaching for the dagger at his waist.

“Not right now!” Aelin hissed, reaching across the table to shove his arm down again. Gods, the tavern was already tense enough with them in it. They did _not_ need to start drawing weapons. “I don’t even—I don’t even have my own court.” Half truth, half lie. Her uncle had a court, and he greeted her with a smile every day. But she had never walked into that court wrapped in fire, either.

Rowan’s hand found hers under the table, and she took a deep breath as he squeezed her hand. She wouldn’t be telling Fenrys about everything, not yet and perhaps not ever. Still, she liked him. Despite—well, despite the circumstances, she liked him.

“I would wait a hundred years,” Fenrys said, and Aelin slid her attention back to him. The gleam in his eyes was still weighted and serious. “Power like yours comes once in an age.”

He wasn’t flattering her. His words were decisive, what he thought was the absolute truth. And yet…Aelin thought of how they met only an hour before. How Fenrys had knelt long before he knew the name she bore.

“And you would serve me,” Aelin began carefully, “without knowing what I want to do with this power?”

The gleam in his eyes shuttered. Good. Aelin had never wanted anyone to follow her blindly.

Fenrys cocked his head, mirroring how he looked when he spoke his first words to her. This time, there was a more calculating look in his eyes. _Good,_ Aelin thought again.

“I have a brother, you know,” Fenrys said. Aelin raised an eyebrow and almost interrupted him to demand he answered the question, but he held up one finger as though asking her to wait. “Connall. He is quiet and thoughtful, that one.” He looked out the window, and for the first time since Aelin had known him, he wasn’t fixated on her. It looked like he was thinking of something else entirely.

“He would call me reckless,” Fenrys said. “Wild and uncontrolled. He thinks I follow power like a shark follows blood in water.”

“Is he wrong?” Aelin asked. He looked back at her, and his eyes softened at the sight, like he had been pulled from darker thoughts.

“Maybe not,” the male admitted. “But I would not swear my life away on an idle whim.” He paused and his eyes grew distant again. That was fine. They both had secrets, then.

Fenrys shook his head slightly and looked up at Aelin again. “I followed you for far longer than you noticed. Your lovely mate would do well to keep a shield around you. Others can sense your power, others who are not like me.” Aelin glanced at Rowan.

_He’s right,_ Rowan said to her, glancing back. It pained him to admit it, she could tell.

“And,” Fenrys continued, drawing their attention back to him. “In the hours I trailed you, I saw a young mated pair, far too gentle for the power they held inside them. I saw you barter and haggle and argue for things you could have ripped away from those humans in an instant. I saw you give bread to a child who may not have made it through another day.”

Aelin drew in a sharp breath. That had been just as they had rode into town—a child, so skinny they had appeared made of sticks, had crossed their path. Aelin had given them the last loaf of bread they had in their saddlebags. In truth, she wished it had been more.

And never once had she noticed that there was someone else watching.

“I did not know who you were,” Fenrys said, “or what you had planned to do with your power. But I saw two highborn Fae—” He gestured at their clothes, at the fine weapons strapped to Rowan, “—who were not vicious or violent or selfish. Rare. Very rare. Combine that with the magic singing in your blood and—yes, my lady, I did want to serve you, even without knowing what you would do with your power. I thought I already had a decent idea.”

Aelin let out a shuddering breath. It had been one thing to see Lysandra, to plan and speak of it, and another to have a complete stranger kneeling before her. Even more so to realize the stranger knew her better than so many had after years of knowing her.

Aelin Galathynius was not a weapon of war. This male…he knew that. He had recognized it.

“Well, my lady?” Fenrys asked. His head was cocked to the side again—a habit of his, she supposed. “Was that the answer you were looking for?”

“Yes,” Aelin said softly. “Yes, it was.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it!! Sorry, guys, Fenrys loves his page time and he made this chapter wayyy longer than I was expecting. (Fun fact: this is one of the first chapters ever written in this fic! But....revisions doubled its length. Thanks, Fen) 
> 
> Would anyone be interested in a Fenrys POV of this chapter??


	18. Chapter 18

Erilea was turning out to be boring.

Disappointing, really. Not that Fenrys had planned to be on this continent, but everyone in Doranelle was on his _last rutting nerve_ and he told them he’d rather be a stowaway on a ship than spend another moment with them.

(They hadn’t believed him, which was stupid of them. Obviously he had to prove them wrong.)  

Turns out being a stowaway wasn’t as thrilling as Fenrys had hoped, even more boring than Erilea was turning out. He had almost revealed himself just to have something to _do_ , but…he doubted the crew would take kindly to a stowaway, and he couldn’t sail very well by himself, especially not on a ship that size.

The ship he had been on had landed in Eyllwe, a beautiful country but full of humans and not a single Fae to be found. Fenrys had traveled plenty in his short life, but only in Wendlyn and the countries to its east, where Fae roamed the lands everywhere. It was disconcerting to be surrounded by humans and none of his kind.

Eyllwe stank of Wyrdmagic, anyway. Fenrys had left Leriba the day his ship had docked into port; he vaguely remembered hearing that Wyrdmagic was more common in Erilea, especially in Eyllwe, but he hadn’t realized how strong it would be. It was woven into the bones of the city, Wyrdmarks drawn on everything he could see, choking the air and pulsing against his own magic like the heartbeat of an ancient thing.

Wyrdmagic had never been used in Wendlyn like it had in Erilea; why would it? Fae had no use for its borrowed power.

So Fenrys escaped the humming city of Leriba, roaming the grasslands of Eyllwe and making his way north. He still hadn’t felt any other Fae around him. He had gotten over the strangeness of it, though, and he spent the quiet nights reasoning himself out of any paranoid thoughts. Fae were rarer on this continent; they were known for sticking north, anyway, and wouldn’t likely venture into a country that was swimming in Wyrdmagic.

His reasoning wasn’t loud enough against the quiet night. There was only the soft whisper of grass in the wind and the slow spin of stars overhead.

Fenrys _hated_ the quiet.

At some point he crossed into Fenharrow, grumbling to himself and cursing the friends who had driven him here. In hindsight, he really shouldn’t have sailed across an ocean to prove a point. But really, they were his friends, and they should have known better—Fenrys would do anything to prove a point.

He finally encountered civilization, thank the gods, though at second glance he wondered if it could even be called that. He had stumbled across a fishing village that was little more than a collection of houses. No place to buy a map, but there was at the very least a tavern with a warm fire and decent ale. He had spent the better part of his time traveling as a wolf—his wolf was faster and had a better sense of smell, but gods, he missed the comforts of being in his Fae form.

There was no one to drink with in this tavern (or rather no one who wanted to drink with _him_ ), a pity, and no one tempting enough to draw his eye, an even bigger pity, but he had a roof over his head and the glorious hum of conversation around him instead of suffocating quiet. He flagged down the nearest tavern girl and ordered another ale.

Fenrys had decided somewhere in the hills of Eyllwe that he would continue north to Rifthold. Rifthold was famous for its debaucheries, and Fenrys needed something to make sure this trip wasn’t a complete waste. He might even head north into Terrasen—that was one country where he knew there would be Fae, even if they were sneered upon in Doranelle. Erilea’s Fae were mocked as weak; it was said they had forgotten their roots and now bowed to humans. Fenrys didn’t believe all the rumors, but he had sneered along with the rest in Doranelle, never admitting in his heart that he wanted to see what it was like. He wanted to see if there did exist a sort of Fae that weren’t constantly at each other’s throats, that weren’t constantly domineering and making threats.

This, of course, was one of the things he never said out loud. Not even to Connall. Fenrys had built a reputation—that he was loud and reckless and wild—and it wasn’t built for nothing. He _was_ loud and reckless and wild. But it wasn’t everything he was. It was like he had become trapped in a role he had built himself. Perhaps that was another reason he had left Wendlyn—not just because his friends had been annoying him, but because he needed to escape Doranelle before his reputation crushed him entirely.

Fenrys looked down at his ale to see that it was empty, as was another that the serving girl had wordlessly put down next to it. Gods, he usually wasn’t a sad drunk. At least Connall wasn’t here to see it.

He still had enough wits about him to order their finest bottle of wine and take it up to his room, where he locked the door behind him and put up a thin shield of his magic around the room. As much as Fenrys doubted that anyone within a hundred miles could challenge him in any capacity, he still heard the words of his mother ringing in his ear.

_Never let your guard down. Ever._

It was true enough in Doranelle, Fenrys thought as he pried open the bottle with his teeth. He sank onto the bed, the only place to sit in the closet-sized room. His mother’s warning was even truer when he was with Connall. Eyes followed them everywhere they went. Fenrys used to see it as a compliment, grinning at everyone who stared, throwing his arm over Connall’s shoulder and daring the crowds to envy the rare Fae twins, even more powerful together than they were apart.

That was before he realized that it was not envy he saw in their eyes. It was hunger. A raw hunger for him, for Connall, for everything that they were together.   

That was when Fenrys realized how dangerous Doranelle could really be.

(Connall, at least, had been lucky enough to never entirely realize it. He could call Fenrys reckless until he was blue in the face, but Fenrys didn’t mind, so long as his brother never found out the true ugliness of what Fenrys had seen and protected him from.)

Fenrys shook his head, trying to get the sour memories out of his head. Gods, he really was a soppy drunk tonight. Maybe it was because he was drinking alone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that. Of course he had sipped a glass of wine at night, or while completing the estate’s boring paperwork, but Fenrys couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten truly drunk when he was by himself.

He looked down at the bottle of wine in his hand to find that it was empty, too. When had that happened? He couldn’t remember anymore.

He yawned and collapsed fully onto the bed. He didn’t remember the bed being this comfortable, either, but by the gods, he was _exhausted._ He felt like he had been wanting to do…something…but his eyes were twice as heavy as they had been five minutes ago, and he would just close them for a few minutes, just to get some rest…

 

Fenrys jolted awake. His head was pounding, the hangover already catching up with him, but he ignored that. His heart was racing, unusual for him, and even more so, his magic hummed nervously in his veins.

He lurched out of bed and swayed while trying to keep his footing. One glance around his room told him nothing had been disturbed—the half-hearted shield he’d thrown up when he had walked inside was still there, and the door remained untouched.

His stomach growled, angry at having not been fed. Fenrys grumbled back. Looking outside the small window in his room, he could see the sun had just set, which meant the tavern was sure to be full. Fenrys grumbled at his magic, too, for waking him up, when there was now a headache digging into his skull—

Suddenly his magic was humming again, louder, and he felt it.

Power. Sheer, raw power, breaking in undiluted waves in the distance. He fell to his knees by the magic that rippled over him and set his blood singing.

Fenrys had thought there was no one within a hundred miles that could challenge him. He was wrong. Very wrong.

He scrambled to his feet again and froze in place. Magic was a tangible thing, if you knew how to listen for it. Fenrys had learned to listen when he was very young, and when survival sometimes meant learning to avoid the pulsing centers of power he could feel in the distance.

This magic didn’t feel like anything he had felt before. It was stronger, and deeper, but _playful_. He cocked his head and kept listening to the threads of the world singing with joy, singing of newly born power and change rippling across the world.

The power sang like a chord, and it took Fenrys a moment to realize it was two magics woven together so tightly they were almost one. Two Fae, then—and they were carranam; they had to be.

Fenrys nearly fell pulling his boots back on. He ran out of his room, barely remembering to throw some coins at the innkeeper on his way out, and then he was sprinting into the night, towards the magic that was unfurling, a wild grin on his face.

His head was still pounding, but he ran until he was out of sight of the village, and then shifted into his wolf, still sprinting. His wolf covered the ground easily, hills disappearing under his paws, but his sense of magic was dulled in his wolf. He shifted back and kept running. The magic was dulling now, falling from a triumphant chord into a lazy hum. Rutting gods, he was losing it.

He had to jump. He couldn’t lose it, not tonight.

He sucked in a breath, and hurtled through a fold in the world.

 

The magic ended before he even got close. The moon sat high in the sky, and despite its light, Fenrys found himself beginning to trip when the magic stopped. It had been slowing down, one half of the power disappearing while the other still hummed on, and Fenrys kept pushing himself and pushing himself.

He had jumped countless times, more than he ever had before, and when that magic had failed him, he had kept running, sprinting even when his legs began to shake.

Then the magic winked out, and his strength left him. He collapsed into the dirt, his arms shaking too badly to hold him up. He barely had the magic left to shield himself, but he put one up anyway, and he rolled over to look at the stars above him.

By the gods, if Connall could see him now. Connall had always told Fenrys he was drawn to power like some men were drawn to drink, and Fenrys knew he was right in most ways. Fenrys didn’t see the point in living a life of mediocrity. He wanted to be part of something that would change the world, and in these fleeting hours, he had felt it. Two magics stronger than his own, woven together, the very sort that could change the world.

He needed to know for sure. Fenrys would never forgive himself for letting this go.

 

The rising sun woke him up, and the distant hum of those magics, too. He bolted upright and immediately began following them again.

His magic had rested throughout the night, and although his stomach still ached in want of food and he grew parched, he didn’t stop throughout the entire morning. He ran, and used his magic to leap across hills and valleys, and finally stopped at noon when the two magics had appeared to stop, as well.

He shifted into his wolf, too tired to do anything but let it catch a few rabbits and drink from a stream. He wasn’t close enough to smell the two, but he could hear soft voices in conversations, the thud of horses’ hooves.

If he could hear them, that meant he could stay in his wolf and track them. Good. It was his better form for long distance travel.  

Fenrys tailed them the rest of the day, never getting close enough to see them, but close enough that sometimes their residual power would ripple over him, and he would shiver, his coat shaking with the movement. It seemed they were heading towards a town that the villagers had told him about; it was the largest town between the Eyllwe border and Bellhaven, a place for travelers and merchants alike. It was difficult for Fenrys to follow them at a distance and not get closer, but the town would give him an opportunity to track them more closely, and meet the two behind these powerful magics.

For all that Connall thought Fenrys was reckless, Fenrys had learned his lesson long ago.

Power, in the wrong hands, was nothing to follow or admire at all.

 

Fenrys woke up at dawn and, once he was sure the two were heading towards the town, he shifted into his wolf again and managed to skirt around them, still never getting close enough to see them. He made it to the town, and found himself a dark cloak that he immediately donned. Hopefully they were still unaware that he was following them—he had never sensed a single shield on either of them, oddly enough—and he didn’t want them to hear any rumors of a Fae warrior in town.

He made his way to an inn rooftop near the edge of the town, and sat, and waited.

 

He had been waiting less than an hour when he saw the horses on the horizon.

Fenrys sank lower to the roof and watched in anticipation. He couldn’t see anything beyond two hazy shapes. They both wore cloaks, as he did—presumably to hide the tipped ears that would give away their heritage. They wanted to be under the radar, then. Interesting.

The two figures rode in closer, and Fenrys could see that one was larger than the other—perhaps a male and female riding together. It was hard to tell under their cloaks. Fenrys tapped a finger against a roof tile and waited for them to draw closer.

Finally, they crossed into town, and Fenrys gaped as he saw their faces.

They were gorgeous. Both of them. Fenrys somehow had the thought that this was the gods testing him with every weakness he had.

It _was_ a female and a male, as he had thought, with golden and silver hair gleaming under their hoods. They smiled at each other, and the female nodded, although the male had said nothing.

Well, then. They were more than carranam. They were mated. A rare combination indeed. 

(Fenrys tried to crush his disappointment. The gods were cruel, they were.)

He shook his head and went back to studying them as they rode in. He couldn’t see their faces all that well, but he noticed one thing in particular. They were both young, incredibly so by a Fae’s reckoning.

There was a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, and Fenrys glanced over to see a child begging on a street corner. He sucked in air through his teeth at the sight. He looked back at the two Fae, and sank his fingers into the roof tiles to keep from jumping down after the child. Fae could be cruel, cruel creatures, and he hadn’t been following these two closely enough to know what sort of Fae they were. They could be the sort that was all too common in Doranelle, drunk on their own power, the sort who saw anyone beneath them as obstacles to go through, if they saw them at all.

The child held up a bowl, only one or two coins shining in it, and the female halted her horse. Fenrys held his breath. He himself had a few cousins who would backhand the child for the sheer presumption of the act.

The female did not. Fenrys watched, carefully, as she withdrew a loaf of bread from her pack, leaning down to give it to the child and murmur words he couldn’t hear. He let out the breath he had been holding. So the golden-haired female was not the sort of Fae he was used to—or, at least, she did not appear to be. Fenrys made his way off the roof and began slinking behind the two, following them at a distance.

He watched the pair for hours. He watched them until he could barely hold back his curiosity, and then he watched them some more, until Connall’s warning voice in his head let up. They had been a strangely unassuming pair. Mated, definitely, and they seemed just as young as Fenrys had initially thought. He would guess that neither of them was over twenty. Children by any measure of age. Yet within the careless way they moved through the world, he saw the weight of their eyes, the female moving with a gentleness that was learned, he could tell.

Looking at her mate, he had a feeling he knew who she had learned it from.

Odd, Fenrys thought. Positively odd. A mated pair—children, really—with an army’s worth of power in their veins and not the slightest inclination to use it. He had tracked them to find answers, to see if the wielders of the power he felt were worthy, but instead he had more questions. Just who were they? Where did they come from? Why, exactly, were they parading around without a single shield around them? Fenrys had sensed their power from a great distance; others could, as well, if there was anyone around who knew how to listen.

Fenrys realized suddenly that he had been lost in his own mind, trailing the two Fae without enough care. The male had noticed—he whipped his head around, scanning the crowds. Interesting. He knew he was being tailed, but not by who.

Fenrys held back a moment, allowing himself to be concealed by the natural movement of the crowd again. He had come in with more questions than when he had started, but his first question had been answered, and so he made his decision. 

He pushed forward, towards the pair now looking over their shoulders in the worst version of subtlety he’d ever seen, and he smiled.  


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter, but I wanted to get something out for you guys! Also--the last chapter brought this series (astra + sic itur) to over 50,000 words! That's CRAZY, you guys (not to mention one of the longest things I've ever written!). Thanks again for sticking around for it!

The next day, Aelin and Rowan gathered the last of their supplies, ready to ride out of the city. Fenrys stayed with them the entire time, offering advice and praise in equal measure. He complimented Rowan on the color of his tunic—unfortunately for Rowan, Fenrys had discovered the younger male could hardly handle a compliment—and then immediately suggested they set up a rotating guard schedule out on the road. He waxed dramatic poetry about Aelin’s hair (for he had also discovered that Rowan’s mate loved compliments as much as Rowan hated them) and told her of the lesser-travelled roads that would keep her safe. He added that, of course, she could likely defeat any who passed her—but he understood that his future queen was not a warmonger.

Aelin could feel Rowan’s discomfort growing—far too many flirtatious blondes recently—and it was at last, when they were about to mount their horses and leave the town that she turned to Fenrys.

“Fenrys,” she said. “Are you coming with us?”

It was a blunt question, Aelin knew it, but the male burst out laughing.

“My lady, I was under the impression you didn’t want me to.”

“I—” Aelin began, and stopped. She liked Fenrys, she did. But that didn’t stop the reasons she had for beginning this journey in the first place.

“I jest,” he said. “I know you're not ready. That’s alright. I’ve been told you don’t have a court yet.”

“I don’t,” Aelin said cautiously.  

“I’ll find one for you,” Fenrys said. “Mind you, not a full court. But…I have some old friends in mind.”  

“If they’re anything like you, I will welcome them.”

Fenrys just smiled slowly. “Oh, they’re twice as honorable but only half as handsome. Still, I have to find them first. My friends aren’t known for staying in one place for too long.”

“I look forward to meeting them,” Aelin said. Fenrys inclined his head, and held out a hand for Aelin to get onto her horse while Rowan mounted his behind them. “How will I let you know when I’m ready to make my court?”

“The same way I found you this time. Just a little louder next time, alright? I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

“You won’t.”

Fenrys laughed, and they clasped arms one last time. “Farewell, Aelin Galathynius. I hope to meet you next as my queen.”

“One doesn’t need to be queen to change the world,” Aelin said. Rowan walked his horse up beside hers, a content smile on his face as though he didn’t notice it was there.

“Perhaps not,” said Fenrys. “But whether you wear a crown or not, you will be my queen.”

“Protect, serve, and cherish,” Rowan said. His voice was quiet, but the words settled between them with a heavy weight.

“Yes,” Fenrys breathed. “I see your mate still knows the Old Ways. Words to build a kingdom on.”

“More,” said Aelin. She looked at the two Fae males, one golden-haired and the other silver. “Words to build a new world on.”


End file.
